Monday, July 12, 2004

Monday Mayberry Moments, III; Brought to you this week by the US Postal Service, "WE DON'T DELIVER"

Yes, folks, time for yet another exciting and red neck filled issue of Monday Mayberry Moments. And, as you might have guessed, this weeks Moment was provoked by the USPS. And this time it's the other way around, I'M GOING POSTAL!

I ordered a bunch of toys from an online toy store for my kid's birthday. I received a confirmation e-mail that they were shipped. I purposely ordered them very early so I wouldn't have to be troubled with worrying over getting them delivered in a timely fashion -or at least that's what I thought. Boy was I ever wrong.

Gosh darn, freakin' &#*@&%^%$%*&*&^^(&#^Q%@#^%Q*@^#*&@#^@^#&#&%^!%Q*$*#$&(*!@%^^$$$(&*(*()@#^@$^&& Mayberry Post Office. On Wednesday of last week I stayed home all day. I had lots to do around the house and didn't feel like going out into the furnace that is the Florida Outdoors anyway. I went about my business and performed various domestic duties throughout the day. I hadn't really given much thought to the mail delivery.

Around four o' clock in the afternoon I went out to get my mail and found the usual bills PLUS (imagine me pounding out the keys in anger as I tell this) a "Sorry We Missed You!" note from the post office. I WAS HOT. And I'm not referring to the 95 degree weather. I was p-ed right off. I never left the house. No one came to the door. My doorbell works very well. I even rang it several times to prove it (while cussing the big lazy fat butt postal employee who couldn't get his big butt out of the itty bitty mail jeep to walk to my door). I was very, Very, VEry, VERy, VERY ANGRY. But I finally chilled and figured, "Oh okay, it is a substitute, my normal mail carrier is a really nice girl. I won't make waves THIS TIME."

I signed the little "Sign here to Authorize Redelivery or to Authorize an Agent to Sign for You:" thingy and stuck it in the mailbox with the flag up. I knew this son of a gun had been showing up every day around 1:30 (THREE hours later than my usual mail carrier), so I lay in wait. Hovering near the bay window in the dining room, assigning my son the "watch for the mailman" duty whenever I needed to use the bathroom, or run the vacuum, I was on stakeout. This guy was not going to pull another, "Ooops nobody's home," on me. He took the little note out of the box and drove away. I stood glaring at him from the kitchen window. He drove off -and I swear he kept my Newseek magazine for an extra day so he could read it.

I figured, "Okay, he hasn't got it with him today." The next day I went through the whole same routine. Again, no package. As soon as I noted the lack of package, I went tearing out the front door, rushing up the driveway to catch and question him. Yes, I know it sounds nutty, but I was having no more of this lazy bugger. But he was one up on me, apparently those Mail Jeeps have Turbo Power. He actually freakin' floored it off the street.

If I was hot before, I was then BOILING. It's now been three delivery days and the son of a peach WILL NOT GET OUT OF THAT FREAKIN' JEEP AND DELIVER MY GORP FORSAKEN PACKAGE. I'd had it. Still, I don't believe in killing the messenger. I phoned my fiendish neighborhood postal facility. I got to speak to Wanda Beabitch. I calmly began explaining what was going on. I tried to explain that, when I'm sitting at home all day, I don't expect to find "Sorry We Missed You!" notes in my mailbox. I couldn't even get finished this nasty snotty #*&%^@!#$% started shouting over me. Freakin' SHOUTING at ME?!?!?!? Why was I being polite?

She's screaming at me, "YOU NEED TO GIVE HIM A CHANCE, HE'S NEW. HE HAS TO HAVE TIME TO LEARN." Now I said to her, "EXCUSE ME," just as loudly as I could, since her particular favorite thing is shouting over people I figured I'd go ahead and accomodate her and I continued, "LYING about whether or not a customer is home is not a TRAINING issue." Would you believe this bitch had the nerve to keep screaming at me? So (since I can really have a big mouth when my buttons are pushed), I SCREAMED AT HER. I SCREAMED, "EXCUSE ME, BUT YOU ARE NOT GOING TO SCREAM at ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! She shut up for a millisecond, but that was all I needed.

I asked for the postal inspector. She claimed that, since we're such a SMALL facility, they only come out of request. I told her that I guessed I would be having to call them then. Her smart little ass told me, "YOU GO RIGHT AHEAD," with the snottiest, bitchiest tone she could muster. I hung up and immediately called the Postal Inspector. They listened to me at length and agreed that both the carrier and the bitch at the office were wrong. They offered to discipline both. I was very pleased. They took an extensive report. I enjoyed every minute of it.

Eventhough I go there occasionally, I have no idea who Wanda Beabitch is. I will take great pleasure in identifying her on my next trip (by her name tag). I will walk right up to her with a giant gleam in my eye. With a triumphant smile I will say, "Ah, Wanda. I've wanted to meet you. I'm HR LADY from County Road here in Mayberry. I just wanted to shake your hand and say, "You fought the bitch and the bitch won."

Don't ever push my buttons. AND don't ever scream over me. I WILL get good customer service every place I deal with, or the bitch will break loose and wreak havoc. ;)



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