Or, they're all out to get me
another unattractive whinge
One of the promises of the internets is that one can order stuff and have it shipped magically to your home.
Of course, UPS and FedEx are useless if you like me live in an apartment. You see, the boys at those shipping companies have to make a call as to whether they want to leave your package at your front door, and none of them will do so at my apartment. Since it can be seen. Like if you are standing at my front door. I live you see on the second floor of a Monterey Colonial building that is behind a large Mediterranean; you would have to be about 23 feet tall to see that package left at my door. If I had a house, they would apparently not have a problem leaving my package. Even though my front door would be visable from the street. Which leaves the Post Office.
The Post Office offers all sorts of wonderful features like tracking and priority mail. I don't capitalize that since I was told by a post office employee that priority mail entails a nice envelope, some marketing and fond hopes.
In any case, I ordered a nice sample of something from the Perfumed Court, tracking its progress. It arrived about a month ago at my post office. It never arrived here. After about 836 phone calls to various disinterested parties from an 800 number to practically the Postmaster General, I finally got a weary call back from the post office letting me know that I would have to tell the shipper that they should make a claim.
So thanks Post Office. I'll just sit here without my sample of Musc Nomade a week from my birthday.
Oh, and can I have please a job where actual performance of ones only duty isn't factored in to my job description? Please?
Image: Pegasus Books