Dear Washington Post Delivery Person,
I hate you so fucking much.
Saturday I didn't get my paper until noon, and then it was a) the crap Saturday edition without all the Sunday extra parts that I'm supposed to get as a subscriber, and b) delivered to the main house when the subscription is clearly for the basement apartment.
Sunday it was three p.m. before I got my paper. Again, it was delivered to the main house. And while I did get some of the Sunday extras, I didn't get the Sunday Source, the Arts Section, the Travel Section, or BookWorld--i.e. the parts I actually read.
Monday the paper was in its rightful place outside my security gate, and I breathed a sigh of relief. My regular delivery person had clearly gone to Ocean City or something for the weekend, and had let his/her halfwitted cousin take over in his/her absence. Now things would get back to normal.
Or so I thought. Until I woke up this morning and there was no paper anywhere to be found. And there still isn't.
You know, Delivery Person, I'm a fairly reasonable human being. I go through life on a pretty even keel--sure, I have my highs and lows like anyone else, but I generally take things in stride.
But in order to take things in stride, I need at least two of the following three things before nine a.m. every morning: 3 cups of coffee; the Washington Post; sweet, sweet lovin'.
Today I just have the coffee. Just. The. Coffee. I am not a happy camper, Delivery Person, and that's partly your fault.
So if you ever decide to return to my neighborhood, be warned. There will be a grumpy little woman holding a 2x4 laying in wait for you. And I don't care if I have to hobble after you on my one good foot for miles, you will pay for the state of mind you're putting me in.
Sincerely,
Jordan PretentiousFamilyName Baker
*Note: I am not actually planning to do bodily harm to my delivery person. I just want my damned paper. It is perfectly safe to return to the normal delivery schedule in my neighborhood. Please.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
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In lieu of a paper, maybe the delivery guy could give you that sweet sweet lovin.
On your bill - that little carbon paper jobber that looks for all the world like every report card I got in the K-12 years - there is a number you can call to get redelivery, but you have to call before 8 am (I think - not sure what the exact cutoff is)? Happens all the time to us in G'town, so I'm thinking perhaps they just rotate the halfwits between hoods?
Yeah, they didn't deliver my paper once last week either. And I hate complaining online, because I usually don't realize I have no paper before the cut-off time and, by that point, I don't really care about getting THAT DAY'S paper, I just don't want to pay for it. And my old delivery guy decided he hated me, I think, and would throw the paper at the door. I live in a studio. Every morning, I'd wake up at like 5 with my heart pounding because something ran into my door. Maybe all those commercials about the Washington Post paying some of their workers crap is true and tehy are taking it out on us...
And three cups of coffee??? That seems a tiny bit extreme...
Wow, I actually delivered a paper for a few weeks once when I was like, 13. Not the WashPost, though. I probably sucked at my job, but at least I was only 13.
http://www.mediabistro.com/fishbowlDC/newspapers/how_do_you_really_feel_40761.asp
At least you didn't go through the agony of wondering whether someone in your building was a paper thief or it was the delivery guy. Paper one day...none the next, two days on, one off...drove me fucking nuts. For the record, a few calls to the NY Times subscriber service got the guy back on the ball. Haven't missed a day since. I guess the lesson is, read the NY Times. Though there's still the risk, at a buck a pop, of inviting some newspaper pilferage.
Don't say you won't hurt them. Leave that threat over their head.
Bastards.
I'd like to take this opportunity to offer whatever sweet, sweet lovin' you may require.
Wow. I can't follow that statement.
I'm pretty sure the 2x4 is a good way of keeping the deliveryx away, footnote or no.
Oh, and
I go through life on a pretty even keel
hahaha! JB, you are an obviously marvellous woman, you write like an angel, and you deserve a great love - but even-tempered and unexcitable doesn't exactly fit you.
So Update: this morning's paper was delivered to the correct door at 7:16 a.m. That's still at least an hour late, you sons of bitches.
anon: done--thanks for the address.
cuff: I've never seen my Delivery Person, but if s/he doesn't start getting the paper to the right door in a timely fashion, s/he had best stay on the other side of the security gate.
anon2: I've actually never received one of those "bills" of which you speak. Hm. . .
rebecca: if it wasn't extreme, they wouldn't call it an addiction, would they?
scarlet: if I thought it was some sweet little kid on a bike, I'd be more tolerant (well, no--I'd be furious at them for letting sweet little kids ride bikes through my neighborhood before daylight).
anon3: I saw. Wonkette apparently liked it too--I guess the "new media" likes it when I get all pissy at the "old media."
anon4: that was one of the things that made me grumpiest--that my neighbors' NYT was right there in its pretty blue bag at 6 a.m. Grrrr. . .
amg: I only retracted it to lure them back. . .
agwahb-cojb: aw, I'm blushing. But I try not to sleep with nameless men.
MA: It's a toughy, isn't it.
firefalluk: Things are seldom what they seem. I'm as calm as a clam 90% of the time.
Just suck it up, go out and give them a cash tip stating your requests .. just once and you'll see an incredible attitide ajustment. I speak from personal bribery past. good luck
Three cups is simply not enough to start the day
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