Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Going all postal - or something like that...

I have decided that the post office was not designed to have me as a customer. I know I have not been very faithful. Christmas cards from years gone by made, pictures printed, all that was left was the addresses, still in a pile in my craft closet. Never sent through the post office. Instead, a rather simple yet wickedly creative electronic version was sent. Sometime around Ground Hog Day.

So I can understand its animosity towards me... I hear the "you don't send me the love anymore" complaint, and I agree. I am the worst snailmailer ever born, grown, created or whatever'd.

But seriously, must you be so cruel? That is not how you win me back.

First you trip me with your rug. Break a few ribs here and there, permanently scrape my knee, and make my opposable thumb feel a little less than posable.

Then you sick that mean old Postmaster on me when I tell him I have pain. And oh how I had pain. He didn't care. He was more concerned that I was going to sue him and that he had too much paperwork to fill out and went all "littleoldladiesshouldntbeoutinthisweatherfallingdownonmysidewalkswhataretheythinking" on me - yet, I am not little, and I sure ain't old (although Kim thinks I look 60, but that is a whole 'nother story), and what do they have to do with me anyway?

Now, when I enter your hallowed doors you send panicked whispers of "she's coming, run, hide" to all of your many little minions. And like a fart in church they spread silently away from where I stand.

Except for that one unsuspecting young lady, who was too busy on the phone to hear your warning. Apparently also too busy to see me standing in front of her at 4:20. And still at 4:25. And even at 4:29 when she reached over to pull down the "closed" sign. All while still on the phone. Making plans to go camping. In May. Because that is what we tundra living people do when the snow dissipates and the temps climb out of the freezer.

So while you don't have love for me any more Mr. Post Office, my Ebay friend really wants her package, so tell your phonechatty little friend that I do not appreciate her closing doors in my face. I may look it, but I am not a push over, and I really want service. Twenty minutes waiting for her to decide with her phonepal where they are staying, and who is renting a cabin, or staying in a hotel (which neither constitute camping by the way) in MAY, is really not good customer service. While I am often a fairly patient and understanding person, I would really like to pay for my package and leave before something large falls on me.

Thankyouverymuchsir (or madame if such is the case).
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