Are you allowed to use the internet to complain about a certain delivery service that happens to be a government agency, the name of which rhymes with Toast Office? Because I want to.
Normally, when I get mad I like to talk about how I'm going to get even with the person who hath wronged me.
I'll say things like:
- Elle, now that you ate the last of the ice cream I will have to puree your face.
- Also, Elle. Just because you said you were having ooey gooey feelings of happiness today doesn't mean you need to come in my room and rub them all on me. BTW, earlier when you asked if your face was too tan? I lied. You look like you hail from Mexico.
- Which one of you broke my favorite toothbrush? Because now it's shaped like a shiv and do you KNOW WHAT THEY USE SHIVSS FOR?
That last one was directed at my parents, not my kids. I'm not an animal, guys.
Seeing as how there are all KINDS of jokes regarding people at this particular Office going, shall we say, postal, I will refrain from getting myself arrested or having my papers delivered in shreds because I shot off at the mouth.
But, I can explain why I'm mad, right?
Last month, Rawr and I were both plopped on my couch discussing our albino complexions. Living in the Pacific Northwest means that the sun comes out every three years and only for about five minutes, then it shoots away into another solar system never to be seen again.
Layman's terms: It rains a whole effing lot here.
Rawr has some kind of super-freak Tan Gene that allows her to turn a nice bronze color just by stepping out onto her porch. I, on the other hand, am a red head and my skin is allergic to sunlight.
Remember my Bridesmaid responsibility in a few weeks? Yeah. Deep purple dress on blue-white skin. I'm going to look like a bruise.
Rawr told me about a Bronzer Oil Tan Thingie that she uses and so I said to myself, Screw this, I'm going to try some!
We won't talk about my taking a week to order it because I already had some lotion that is supposed to give your skin a tint and I wanted to try that first. Forward two days later: I looked like the love child of Casper the Ghost and an Umpa Loompa. Very stripey.
So, I broke down and ordered the stuff, it shipped, Rawr and I checked the confirmation number on the website and on the day it declared my package Delivered! she and I turned to each other in confusion.
Me: [staring at the screen. Walking to front door, looking at stoop] Uh, I see nothing. Where is my crap?
Rawr: Probably delivered to the cul-de-sac.
Me: Oh. Where the Stealers and Liars live. Sweet.
(Stealers and Liars- Whole. Other. Post.) What is SUPER awesome is that some idiot contractor or street-namer or politician labeled my road as Street. The cul-de-sac behind us has the same street name, but is labeled as Way. An added bonus would be recycling the exact same house numbers.
So, if you're following along, the folks on my street have the exact same address as the people on the street behind us, only one is Street and the other is Way. Follow?
So we're always getting each others mail. Or stealing it, right Elle?
I'm going to cut out a whole lot of junk details and just tell you guys that after calling the USPS, we discovered that my package had been delivered to my California address. We'll skip over the part where I haven't ordered from Ebay in years and when I recently logged in and ordered said item, I changed my billing address but not my delivery address. Oops.
Fear not, for I have a change-of-address still in effect because of my recent (as of ten months ago) move. So, the package should have been forwarded to me at my new address. Or, the package should have been returned to the sender, which is was not. The USPS worker I spoke with on the phone confirmed that one or the other of these actions should have been taken.
I've spoken to the same woman each time I call and she keeps giving me the run-around. At the end of each phone call she promises me that someone will call me back by the end of the following day. No one ever does. This has been going on for a month.
Tonight I called the 800 number and presented myself in a very cave lady-like manner. I'm not proud of it, but I was pretty pissed off, and all I got was a new case number. And a promise that someone will return my call the following business day. It's a good thing that I was alone when that happened. No one likes to witness Sailor Swearing.
So. As of this day forward, I refuse to use the United States Postal Service. I'm cancelling my mail and will only be receiving correspondence via carrier pigeon. I will no longer smile at my postal worker and I will fax everything else to where it needs to go.
This is pretty much 100% fool proof.
Stupid Ebay. Stupid Scandinavian Skin!