Almost there...

Monday, July 23, 2001

Aren't vacations supposed to be relaxing? My upcoming vacation plans are to go to Lark in the Morning Camp in Mendocino. For the last few years, my friends have been coming home from this absolutely raving about how freaking cool it was and how I have to go. So this year I finally had both money and time and heard about it at the right time. Ta-da! Very cool, right? Wrong. So far it has been nothing but torture. This is a camp that fills up so fast generally that you have to get your registration in within a few days of the form becoming available. Okay, fine. We downloaded the form from the web, and resized it for them since they .gif they put up was, well, seriously huge. Then we faxed it in since fax or mail is the only two possible choices, although I trust neither any farther than I can spit. They lost our form even though we had a fax log from two different fax machines saying that it was received successfully. Nearly a month later we re-faxed and were told there was no way we could get into the same camp as our friends. Fabulous. Strangers in a strange land, without any of our dozen friends to play guide. Still, we'd sent them the credit card number and it had been charged, so we were in that far. May as well keep going right? Oh we should've just turned back then. We never got an official confirmation of registration. Just a credit card charge for the right amount. We finally received their information packet about a month ago, which wins new awards for worst formatting. If only there was a Fork In the Head (R.I.P.) for print publications. Anyway, we sent our remaining fees in, and again got no confirmation or receipt. Just a cashed check. Hmm. Very odd business practices these folks have. Anyway, then I started receiving random spam from Mickie Zekley, apparently the owner of Lark in the Morning. I replied to one of these spam bits with an actual question about camp. I wanted to know when we were supposed to be there on Friday. The response I got was one line, no punctuation: Please email Mary not me. Uh, okay. So I write back: Who is Mary? What's her email address? I get back: It's on the email you received. Please read it. Uh, okay. After thoroughly checking the first reply, I confirmed that there was no email address for a Mary. Okay. So I write back again. On the third reply, he did finally explain who Mary was, but it turns out she couldn't have answered my question anyway. Oh, and he still hasn't answered my original question. What was it again? What time should I be there on Friday? Very simple. Now six emails have criss-crossed the internet, and I still don't know when I should be there. Sigh. Now I'm really sorry that this is what I have planned for my "vacation". This is the most stressful thing I've encountered all day. Grrr.

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