Saturday, September 29, 2012

Non-WoW: The US Postal Service

     I know, I know... this is a WoW Blog.

     But it's also my own personal soapbox/rant stand/megaphone.

     I recently ordered an HDMI cable on Amazon.  I know I could've gone to a nearby electronics store or even a superstore (Wal-Mart, for example) to get the cable, but why pay $30.00 now when I can pay $4.00 and wait a week?

     Or so I thought.  I placed the order on 15 September.  The delivery estimate provided by the seller (cmple dot com.  I will NOT link that.) was between 20 September and 25 September.  Five day delivery window using standard service from the postal service seems reasonable for the price I paid.

     It didn't arrive by the 25th.  In fact, it didn't arrive on the 26th or 27th, either.  Nope, it arrived for delivery on the 28th.  Here's the kicker.  Instead of the postman (or -woman, I don't know) just dropping it in my mailbox for me to get when I had a moment to check the mail, they left a card telling me it was at the local postal station.  Why is that?


     This company had mailed out my product with unsufficient postage.  Of course, I'll be demanding a reimbursement from the company mentioned previously for the extra amount I had to pay (and should they infuriate me further, I'll bill them for the gas I spent getting to the post office and for the amount of time I spent standing in line.  It'll be easier if they just cooperate.)

     This is where the Postal Service mentioned in the title comes in.  Ohhhhh this is going to be FUN.

     I'm in line for five minutes.  On a Saturday.  Not cool.  But fine, whatever.  The Post Office is often busy on Saturday.  I've made it halfway through the line of people when one of the workers (heh... right) at the desk shouts to the crowd, "Anyone for pickup should go to the blue door and ring the bell."

     Now I'm at a blue door with a bell.  I ring the bell a total of three times over the course of my ten minute wait. Once at arrival.  Once at five minutes. Once more at ten minutes.  On the third ring, the door is pulled open by a rather large woman with a lazy eye.  Scary.  She snatches the pickup card from my hand, glances at it, then looks at me in disbelief.  "Why are you over HERE?!" she demands of me.  "Because the lady over there said all pickups should come over here."

     "No, you got to go over there to pay yo' POSTAGE." Imagine this with all the attitude you can muster in your mind.  Remember, she's a big woman.  One eye is not looking at me.  Got the image?

     Let's move on.  I go back to the line I started in.  It's longer than it was when I first arrived.  Ten minutes pass.  I'm pretty sure I can feel the blood coagulating in my veins a la The Andromeda Strain.  The book, not the movie.  Seriously, read the book before watching the movie.  It'll wreck every movie you ever watch.

     Where was I?

     Right, in line, waiting to die.

     So, I get to the counter.  George Burns is standing there.  If you don't know who that is, Google it.  Seriously, go now.  It'll complete the image I'm trying to paint for you.  It wasn't *actually* George Burns, but you get my point.

     George Burns asks me why I'm at his counter with a pickup card.  Well, George, it's because scary Cyclops over at the Blue Door of Doom told me to come here to pay my postage.  "Well, if you knew you had to pay postage, why did you go over there in the first place?" *sigh*  I'm not exactly religious, but I almost started praying for serenity at this point.  I must not punch government employees.  I must not punch government employees.  Imustnotpunchgovernmentemployees.

     "Look, sir, I just want my package. I have the money to pay the extra postage.  I just need the package.  Please go find my package." I'll admit, I probably had a little annoyance in my voice at this point.  Sue me.  My patience is not infinite (anyone who has ever been in a PuG with me can attest to that).

     He walks back to the rear of the post office to find my package (remember, this is just an HDMI cable that's already three days late).  As he's returning, I can hear him before I see him.  What do I hear him saying, you might ask?

     "Find my package, find my package, find my package!" in the most mocking tone you can come up with when you're trying not to let the customer hear you.

     George Burns comes back to the counter and I said "You know, I could hear you mocking me back there.  Those walls aren't soundproof."

     His response? "Good."

     At this point, I've had it.  However, I maintain my self control. Sort of.  I maintain it enough to pay for my package, snatch my receipt, and leave the post office without a scene.

     This was about an hour ago.  Writing it down has helped me to calm down a bit.  Perhaps it's just given me something to focus on while the adrenaline rush subsides.

     But seriously, and I say this with all sincerity.

     F*** the U.S. Postal Service.

1 comment:

  1. One of the vast, varied, and many reasons that it is a failing institution.