What a place, America.  We spend Thanksgiving overeating and stuffing ourselves to the point we can literally hold no more.  Then we spend the next month filling our shopping carts with more shit than our houses can handle.  Then we complain about 10% unemployment rates and the poor economy.

We spent 595 million dollars this black Friday, that’s more than the total GDP for the bottom 20 countries in the world.  Next time you want to complain about the price of milk, count yourself fortunate that you aren’t being ass raped by your government in some dark corner of Liberia.  So finish your Fruit Loops and stop bitching about being underpaid and under appreciated.

Get off your ass, go to school, and read a book – most of the world would kill for the opportunity.

Only Jackasses Work At Wal-Mart

My very pregnant wife called me a moment ago to tell me about yet another abysmal Wal-Mart experience. Some might wonder why we would ever go back to Wal-Mart after so many bad experiences. Well, more times than not that’s all there is within close range. This was one of those times.

Today my tubby, expecting better half made her way over to Wal-Mart on her lunch break to buy a maternity shirt. She wore a blouse to work that seemingly became too small for her over night and her big belly kept poking out from under it! So she made her way back to the women’s clothing and started rummaging around.

After a few moments of unsuccessful browsing she went to the fitting room where two female employees lounged. My wife said she stood before them for a moment before they suspended their conversation when one cocked her head towards her and asked, “Can I help you?” in a sassy voice. My timid wife asked, “Do you guys carry maternity clothes?” “Uh, no” the lazy, fitting room attendant replied back.

At eight months into pregnancy a woman becomes very volatile. A few weeks ago the woman working drive-thru at the local Wendy’s got an attitude with my vwife and she called the girl a bitch and told her to shove a Jr. bacon cheese burger up her ass. Today my wife was on the opposite end of the spectrum. It upset me a bit to hear her story today because I think the lazy ass at Wal-mart really got to her.

After hearing all this, my attention was brought back to something that happened to us this past Friday. Microcenter, a local technology store had an unbeatable deal on a Philips 32 inch, LCD TV over the weekend. I planned on buying the TV and giving it to my wife as a family Christmas gift, perfect for the bedroom.

That afternoon I called the local Microcenter, some 35 miles away, confirmed they had the product in stock and took the long drive out to the store. After arriving we found no TV. I scrambled to find a sales associate and of course none were available to help me. All were rummaging about and if they weren’t helping someone else they were either talking to one another or apparently avoiding us.

Suddenly I had the urge to pitch a bitch fit.. If I were my mother, I’d have began following people around, calling out “Sir, Ms., can I get some help over here? I need some help.” over and over in a loud affirmative voice until someone was forced to break away and give me attention, but I hate throwing the bitch fits which unfortunately just leads to being ignored in most of these situations.

By now I was fuming, pissed off beyond words. It had been a long Friday and I was ready for it to be done with. So I began systematically turning the power off to every piece of electronics in the store. I went from item to item cutting off the power. Entire rows of TVs were left dark.

Still we received no assistance.

I finally tracked down a manager on the other side of the store and asked, “Would you like to make a $450 sale today?” “Well, what can I get for you Sir?” He replied with a smile!

That’s what it took to get help. I swear to you, if I could have found a better deal on that TV (32 inch Philips LCD for $450!) I’d have bought it elsewhere. But not even the Wal-Mart off-brand LCD televisions are this cheap yet. I couldn’t pass up the deal.

I am really starting to wonder if the rantings of the older generation are valid. Talk to an old timer long enough and they’ll undoubtedly give you their opinion that the world going to hell in a hand basket. I love hearing about how young people these days just take no pride in their jobs. I’m starting to agree. Customer service has become a joke at most stores these days. Everywhere I go I get attitude, and it’s not because I’m dishing it out in the first place. I spent 5 years working in retail then another 3 waiting tables before I finished all my schooling. As a result, I’m more than understanding of how bad these jobs suck. Young people just plain old suck! God help me, I’m only 25 and already ranting about young people sucking.

As a result of this recent string of bad experiences, I pledge, no I VOW that next time I receive bad service I will retaliate. I will grab whatever is nearest to me, a display, a rack of clothing, whatever, and I will overturn it. Then I’ll look to that pathetic puke who just gave me crap service, targeting them with the shaky, pointed finger of poetic justice and say, “Clean that up, bitch.”

Only despite all my frustration, which will be obvious from the sweaty brow, bugged eyes and trembling body, I’ll utter these words in the most nonchalant and coolness of tone, releasing all my frustrations at very moment before speaking. Then I’ll walk out of the store never looking back.

Hopefully I won’t get arrested for vandalism.

Better just stick to shopping online with Newegg and Amazon. No assholes to deal with, more competitive pricing and no sales tax! Woot!

The Target Hand Soap of Death!

On a recent trip to my local Target retail store I encountered what I believe to be one of the dumbest non-retarded people I have ever seen. I am not even sure how this guy, my cashier, was able to count money back to customers he was such an moron. He reminded me of a mindless bullfrog, croaking, staring at me blankly all bug eyed and blinking excessively. A slimy little turd I secretly wished I could smash under the heel of my boot and watch his green slimy entrails splat all over the ground and stick to the sole of my shoe!

I visited the store that day to pick up a few toiletries for around the house. Bar soap, toothpaste, some hair gel and maybe a stick of deodorant were all that I required. I remember the weather being quite nice that afternoon, I had taken the day off work to wait for the termite inspector to come by so he could take a hundred bucks from me in exchange for a letter stating that I still did not have termites. I was happy to be at the very un-crowded store by myself and decided to rummage around.

If you read my past post about the hell I have endured at the local Wal-mart, then you already know I am a pretty big fan of the big Target with their red and khaki color scheme so it is never difficult for me to quickly amass an armful of junk I probably do not need while milling around the store.

I had grabbed my bar soap, toothpaste and so on along with a few other items. Amongst these other items was an enormous bottle of soft soap. My wife adores wasting money on pricey little items that smell good and look pretty. Our home is littered with little wall plug-in air fresheners, candles, dozens of bottles of lotions and yes, little cutesy bottles of hand soap. Being the clever dude I am, I figured I may save a few bucks by buying a gigantic bottle of creamy smelling hand soap and refill the old bottles of over priced Bath and Body Works soap before she could buy new ones!

Being a man’s man I naturally frown on the use of a shopping cart or hand basket and always opt instead, to rummage around uncomfortably with my arms overflowing with items, today was no exception. I made my way up to the cash register taking great care not to drop anything and was glad to finally be able to dump all the items on the conveyor belt. My cashier, a nice looking kid who I can now only assume is a complete failure and high school dropout flipped the switch and began scanning the items.

Beep, Beep, Beep… “Alright, that’ll be $13.78″ He said to me after ringing up my order. I swiped my card, entered my pin number and was handed my receipt. As I reached for my bag I discovered that all it contained was the gigantic bottle of soap and hair gel.

I looked up at my cashier confused; he started back at me blankly (stupid bullfrogs came to mind). “Oh, is all this other stuff your’s too?” He asked. I looked around in disbelief. There was no one behind me, no one in front of me, in fact there was really hardly anyone in the store at all, only other employees.

“Uh, yeah I want all that other stuff too man. So how did a jug of soap and some hair gel cost thirteen bucks?” I asked, looking down at my receipt to find that not only had the genius failed to ring up 3/4ths of the stuff I wished to buy, but also rang up one of the two items I did want twice! How was that even possible? How do you only ring up two out of some eight items a person wants to buy then ring up one of the two aforementioned items twice? And how do you miss ringing up the rest of the items when there is in fact no one behind me, beside me or even previously in front of me in line? Do not bother entertaining the idea that I may have mistakenly slipped in a separator bar in there either. No separator bars here! It is freaking impossible. It is an enigma; I still can not understand how this happened.The only solution is this kid is hopelessly addicted to huffing paint fumes and Elmer’s glue.

“Uh, uh… I don’t think I can give you a refund.” The retarded bullfrog said nervously, thumbing around the little keypad hitting different buttons praying that some magical panacea, fix everything button would present itself ending his humiliation and my glaring stare of disbelief. “Dude, don’t worry about. I’ll go to customer service.” I replied blankly, packing up the load in my arms again and dumping the items carelessly into a basket that sat on a neighboring register.

I trudged my way up to the front of the store and slung the heavy basket up onto counter, pleading my story and doing everything I could to hold back my frustration. I was not really angry, after all it was really not that big a deal.  I was simply amazed at the pure senselessness of the cashier. The customer service rep began helping me out when I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Sir, you have goo all over your shoe.”

I looked down to find my shoe covered in hand soap. COVERED! The customer service rep handed me an enormous roll of paper towels and I began lapping up the slippery substance. I looked in the basket to find that when I dumped all the items down in frustration I had busted the top of the cap to the giant bottle.

Swiiiishhh…. Thud! I turned around to see a Target employee take a massive fall! She slid across the floor like a tumbling ice skater! “Oh my God, it’s like an oil tanker crashed” I whispered to myself in pure shock.

A long and thick trail of almost invisible, cream colored soap trailed from where I stood to the cash register I had just left. Upon further inspection of the bottle, I realized over half of it had spilled out onto the floor! Yes, I had dumped roughly fourth of a gallon of soft soap over a smooth tile floor in an area no greater than 150 square foot. It was a disaster, a glorious mess.

Suddenly the Target walkie-talkies were abuzz with alarm. “We need all service personnel to the front of the store. CODE GREEN, CODE GREEN!” The Target employees immediately created a perimeter around the spill, hoping to prevent lawsuit hell from enveloping them. They organized with the grace of a well trained team of FEMA emergency relief workers… after Hurricane Katrina!

Meanwhile the bullfrog cashier stood at his post, starting blankly at the situation that had unfolded as a direct result of his incompetence. I whispered to the customer service rep, “I’m just gonna go get another bottle of soap, thanks for helping me out.” She almost appeared to not hear me, amazed by the massive slip and slide that had been created in the store lobby. I grabbed my items, got my new bottle of soap and snuck away embarrassed, my right shoe saturated and slippery as could be.

On my way out the Target team appeared to have the spill under control and the employee that took the tumble was up and walking around just fine. Hopefully no wallets emptied or lives ruined over the fiasco.

While most would attribute the cause of this incident to my carelessness in handling the huge bottle of soap, I choose to see things in a different light.  This was the fault of the stupid paint huffing, bullfrog minded cashier.  To hell with you Mr. bullfrog casheir.

Wal-Mart's finest merchandise!

For my mother in law’s upcoming birthday she asked for a trashcan. It may sound lame, but she didn’t ask for just any trashcan, she asked for one of those immaculate stainless steel models with the kick pedal. The kind of trashcan you desire to polish up like a nice piece of silverware and put on display for all to see. A trashcan you actually care about cleaning the dried up spaghetti sauce and cereal out of the bottom of, a trashcan that only a person with ridiculous amounts of expendable income would buy.

I’ve always wanted one of these badass trashcans but unfortunately the specific one I want, the same one my mother in law happens to want cost around $80 and there’s no way in hell I’m dropping 80 clams on a trashcan. After all, you throw trash in it.

Because my mother in law is such a special person (how many men can admit that) and even more importantly, because my sister in law offered to go in half with us we decided to spring for one of these awesome trashcans and give it to her for her birthday this year.

Yesterday afternoon we decided to venture out and retrieve the overpriced waste receptacle. The day was shaping up to be awesome! The weather was perfect, sun was shining and I actually wasn’t upset that I was about to spend $40 on a big beautiful household item that I wasn’t going to keep for myself. Things felt right in the world. Our destination was the local Target retail store.

As we were driving down the highway on our way to Target, I noticed we were coming up on Wal-Mart. Normally I’d keep on driving as I hate Wal-Mart but today something was different. I was feeling too damn optimistic.

“Hey sweetheart lets see if they have any of those trashcans at Wal-Mart, they’re usually cheaper on stuff like that.” I said to my wife.

She smiled at me, her eyes full of joy and sunshine and agreed to my plan. We were so happy, so relaxed and so pleased to be buying a trashcan.

So we made our way to the local Wal-Mart and ventured in. This Wal-Mart was a newer store. It was well lit, clean and everything looked fresh. Unlike the Wal-Mart in our home town, the floors were not yet plagued with shopping cart scuff marks and the sidewalks not littered with smashed chewing gum.

Generally I wouldn’t set foot in a Wal-Mart but I was certain this new and apparently improved Wal-Mart would be different. We made our way back to the home storage section to find what we were looking for.

“Wow, $49.99, totally sweet!” I said with excitement.

We had found a comparable trashcan to the one at Target for a whopping $30 less! I took it off the shelf and began inspecting it.

“Oh crap, the lid on this one is busted.” I said to my wife.

“There’s another one behind it.” My wife pointed out.

I retrieved the second trashcan from the shelf only to find that there was a gaping dent in the side of the stainless steel tube.

“Go figure, you find exactly what you’re looking for and they’re both busted!” I said in dissatisfaction.

I took a quick look around and spotted an employee an isle over bent down rummaging though a box, his butt crack shining in the bright fluorescent lights and displayed for the entire world to see.

“Uh, excuse me sir. Do you work in this section?” I asked.

The middle aged, balding man stood up to face me looking almost dumbfounded. I read his scraggly name tag then looked to him for a response but none came too quickly.

“Uh, Jim… do you know who works in this section, can you help me out with these trashcans?” I asked again using his name this time.

Jim looked at me blankly and replied, “No…uh, I don’t know who works over here.”

Jim stood there starting at me blankly like a kid stumped by a difficult math problem they didn’t anticipate encountering on an algebra final exam.

“So… do you know if they have any more of these trashcans in the back?”

By now I’m dieing for some help, but Jim doesn’t disappoint. He lives up to the Wally World standard for outstanding service.

“No, probably not.” He replies. “What we got is probably out on the shelves I’d say.”

And that’s it! No, I’ll check or I’ll see if I can find someone to help you. Then he just stood there and waited until I walked away.

“Alright Jim, thanks for the help.” I said sarcastically and walked away.

I was now fuming and wondered why the hell I even came here. What did I expect out of this place?

Suddenly my view of our surroundings underwent a total metamorphosis. The over optimism I was feeling had cloaked the true nature of this place but now that optimism was gone.

I instantly recognized things that went completely unnoticed just moments before. To my left was a toddler running around in nothing but a diaper, his mother no where to be found. Another woman talking in a deep disgusting southern drawl screamed at her children in broken English a few more isles over.

“Git yer asses back ova here befo I drag ya ins that bathroom and beat yer butts!”

I noticed the trailer trash hotties rummaging around in flocks, all with bleach blond hair, pale legs covered in little bruises and plagued with razor burn wearing their booty shorts displaying slogans like “HOTTIE” across the asses.

Then there was the man with a mouth full of chewing tobacco, unshaven in an unattractive manner, donning a baseball cap and the cut off flannel shirt, toting an old mountain dew bottle for spitting into. He would later stow it away on one of the isles when he was finished with it.

I noticed the over weight black divas working the customer service desk, giving everyone hell and working as slowly as possible and the middle aged white trash bitch who wears her clothes too tight. Her fat rolls popping out over the top of her pants, reminding me of a can of exploded biscuits and a camel toe worthy of being upgraded to the status of moose knuckle.

The store was in shambles, merchandise strewn every which way, 20 cash registers manned by a measly 4 cashiers and a parking lot full of carts. Then I suddenly had a recollection of my last trip to Wal-Mart months ago and why I had sworn then to never return.

During my last visit we were grocery shopping. Amongst the things we were shopping for I had picked up a pack of Italian sausage and placed it in our shopping cart. As we shopped I must have inadvertently brushed my hands across my face, soon after I started smelling the funk.

Sniff…sniif… “Sweetie, do you smell that?” My wife looked at me confused.

“What’s that smell? I asked.

I began sniffing around, sniffing her, myself, our clothing. I turned every which way desperately trying to find the source of this smell.

“What the… you seriously don’t smell that?

Then I began picking up various items in the cart smelling each then putting it back down. That’s when I found the source of the funk, it was the Italian sausage. The sausage possessed an odor I could only describe… as rotten vagina. Yes, I smelled rotten vagina.

“Do you smell that? The sausage smells like rotten vagina! I swear to God it does!” I exclaimed!

My wife took a whiff of the Italian sausage and made a sour face.

“Eeeewwwww, disgusting!” She cried out.

I had solved the mystery. It was my hands that reeked of rotten vagina from touching the rotten sausage and I had wiped it all over my face. That day we left our cart where we stood and fled the store vowing to never return. But today, we broke that vow and boy do we regret it.

Sure, the store is new, bright and modern. But none of that matters if you’re going to have to deal with douche bags like the Wal-Mart all-star Jim and packages of meat that reek of rotten vagina.

We made our way to Target afterwards and things immediately got better. Target actually have several more trashcans to pick from, they were a bit more expensive but guess what? None were dented and we even had two employees just randomly ask us if we needed help while visiting the store! And I bet if there were none on the shelf someone would have checked in the back for another for us!

The employees at Target looked cheerful and most of the women that worked at Target were actually pretty decent looking. And let’s not forget the clientèle that visits Target vs. Wal-Mart. Target is a Mecca of hot chicks and milfs! You already know what I encountered at Wal-Mart.

Bottom line is, I visit Target and get what I want. The women that shop there are hot and I leave with a little pep in my step ready to go home and make sweet love to my wife. I visit Wal-Mart and I leave impotent, frustrated and a nervous wreck.

In conclusion I’d like to say, Happy Birthday my dear mother in law! I hope you appreciate all the hell we went through to get you this damn $80 trashcan!

The weather was perfect, Tim Hudson pitched a great game, Chipper Jones was on fire and even more importantly the beautiful women of Atlanta were out in droves displaying their artificially tanned legs and midriffs with their short shorts, sun dresses and low cut shirts. For any red blooded American male, it was as close to heaven as it gets.

After the third inning I decided to treat myself to a delicious $7 jumbo dog. I usually back away from the concessions at ball games because of their low quality and insane price, but today was going too perfectly so I decided to partake in the guilty pleasure.

So I get in line, wait several minutes and am greeted by a large, cheery black man,

“What’ll ya have? What’ll ya have?” He slurred quickly, almost inaudibly.

“Uh, gimme a jumbo southwest dog with onions and a small coke.” I replied.

The vendor quickly spouted off, “Jumbo southwest dog all tha way wit onions!”

Then he looked at me and said, “that’ll be tweeenie dollas… na I’m kiddin wit cha, that’ll be leven fiftie!”

$11.50! This is why I usually get loaded in the parking lot, sneak in my own liquor and bring my own food to these things.

So the vendor gets my $7 hot dog, which admittedly almost looks like it’s worth $7, I’m so hungry at this point and sits it on the counter in front of me. I hand him the cash and am waiting for change when a big gust of wind catches the dog and sends it rolling down the counter.

Chilli, cheese, onions and jalapenos are now everywhere. I stare up blankly at the vendor and he stares back.

“So uh, my hot dog kinda made a mess there.” I say.

He keeps staring at me blankly. “Next! What’ll ya have, what’ll ya have?”

I scooped the toppings of my dog up and slopped them back on the $7 limp dick of a hot dog I just bought and stomped off.

I would estimate that the markup on concessions at sporting events is easily 1000%! This stuff is marked up more than blood diamonds! When you buy a hot dog at a ball game, it’s probably better suited for raping your ass than eating because that’s what they’re doing to you, RAPING YOUR ASS!

Is it really going to hurt your bottom line so much that you can’t do the customer, who is already paying outrageously inflated prices, right!  What is the world coming too? This is outrageous.

So after eating my dog I go back to my seats.  We approach the chauffeur and my buddy and I reach for our tickets to get back in our section, only I don’t have mine. The chauffeur won’t let me by.  My buddy goes back to the seat to find my ticket and I’m left standing next to this aging jackass with an attitude.

“Are you trying to sneak in here? I haven’t seen you around here before. I’ve worked here years! I haven’t seen you before!  You aren’t trying to pull one over on me are you? You trying to sneak in here?”

Was this guy kidding me?  Sure old timer, you’re easily pushing 70, you’re eyes are glued to every pair of tits that waltz by and you appear to have a spot of Altimeters!  But you don’t remember me!? Go figure!  I’m a hairy, 225 pound dude who looks about as average as every other dude around here! I wonder why your old retarded ass doesn’t remember me?

Eventually my buddy returns with my ticket, after I had been interrogated for 5 minutes. You’d think I was a terrorist trying to sneak a shampoo bottle onto an airplane the way he acted.  Either than those two instances, the game was great and the old man was actually kind of entertaining.

In conclusion I want to tell all the vendors and concession stand workers at that game to suck my testicles. You’re all tools of the system, they crap on you! They pay you less an hour than what they charge for a 16 ounce bottle of water. And if you’re bosses are the ones who say you can’t do the customer right then they can suck my balls too! I’ll never buy another limp dick of a hot dog at a Braves game again!

 After eating the South Beach Living, Turkey & Bacon Club Wrap Sandwich Kit I feel both dissatisfied and ripped off. In fact, I’d rather spend $2 wiping poop out of my crack than waste my hard earned cash on this stuff ever again. Look at this box, its false advertisement of the worse kind.  I contend it is the worse kind because it’s torturing fat people. After all, those are the real victims here, the fat asses.I can see it now, some super chunk nerd who normally eats 3 double cheese burgers, 2 slaw dogs and a bag of Fritos for lunch just decided to go on a diet.

“Hmm, I think I’ll have some South Beach turkey taco wraps for lunch.  They sure look appetizing. And look, they’re low card, low cal, low fat and high protein.  It’s like manna from heaven.  Thank you Kraft, for South Beach diet.” 

On the cover sits what appears to be a delicious, melty (is that a word) turkey, cheese and bacon burrito.  It almost looks too good to be diet food. Then you open the box and you get this!  Total crap! 

Just for kicks, I found a standard sized paper plate to put my Turkey & Bacon Club wraps on.  You’ll notice that they barely fill half the plate.  On the box the wraps looked huge on the paper plate.  That must be one of those sucky plates they pass the cake out on at weddings. 

People who hog wedding cake blow.

Some might argue, “Hey man, its $2 and its diet food.  What did you expect?”  To those people, I say you need to acquaint yourselves with the dollar menus at fast food restaraunts. Sure, dollar menus add rolls to your belly, give you monster gas and help make American’s more disgusting in general nationwide, but it’s not all bad.  I can always count on that low fat Wendy’s chili and baked potato if I’m feeling like a total fat ass and want to make myself feel less disgusting for frequenting a fast food joint for the 20th time in a week.

Let’s quit fooling ourselves.  So called “diet” frozen dinners and lunches are not low fat, its about as low fat as Krispy Kreme coming out with a diet version of their famous glazed donuts only to find out it’s the exact same donut, only a 5th of the size of their regular donut. 

Yeah, that’s real low fat.  Thanks for nothing douche bags. 

I start off by calling Comcast, after all, all the neighbors up and down the main street had it, it just wasn’t installed down the subdivision street yet.  Since I’m the first home built in the subdivision, they say they won’t run the cable until more people call requesting the service and insist I’m in AT&T’s territory anyway! I call AT&T and get the same response. 

Why these people don’t want my $100+ a month is beyond me! And the developer insists that he paid both companies to run installation to the houses he’s been building.  

I become very pissed and decide to take action. My mom was lucky enough to get me the name and email of a regional manager for the company whose job is to oversee new accounts.  The emails below are the actual correspondence that I sent to Comcast, or as I like to call them: BOMBCAST!

Tuesday, October 30, 2007 10:46 AM
To: #### (sent to my friends for pity)
FW: comcast

Nancy Black is a local manager for the Comcast office in Canton. My mom got in contact with her and she sent me an email about the problems I’ve been having.  This is the honest to god response I just sent her in regards to the customer service I’ve received from the Cartersville office. 

Tuesday, October 30, 2007 10:44 AM
To: ‘#####, Nancy’
Subject:RE: comcast

They’re (the local techs) supposed to be coming out today and burying the drop line. This local office in Cartersville is useless. They totally contradict what I’ve been told by the office I talk to when I call 404 comcast. You should try and have those people canned, they all suck.  After this whole ordeal I’ve decided to start calling Comcast by a new name:

BOMBCAST!  As in I just dropped a big BOMB in the toilet and it smells like 3 day old dog crap that’s been sitting out in the sun wrapped in a ziplock bag!  Bombcast makes me have to puke. I swear I’d rather stick a corncob wrapped in barbed wire up my butthole then talk to those idiots in that office ever again!

Thank you for your time and response.

Tuesday, October 30, 2007 11:50 AM
From: ‘#####, Nancy’
Subject:RE: comcast

I’m very sorry to hear you feel that way about Comcast.  I’ll do everything I can to rectify the situation.

Later I learned about a great site you can sound off on called ComcastMustDie.com.  Anyone with a problem with the company should visit the site and state their problems for help.

By the way, a month later they finally came out and rigged up the cable for me.  They connected it to a telephone pole down the road and I had orange cable running across the street to my house for 2 months until they finally came and installed it correctly.