Top Rages - July 1998
Disclaimer:
First of all, I just print the Rages as I gets 'em, with minor editing to protect the Rager's identity -- if requested -- and to clean up the language if it's necessary.
Secondly, I don't judge the people that write the Rages, nor do I share any of their opinions or any apparant bias they may display toward any particular group or members of any society -- once again, I only print 'em as I gets 'em.
With that in mind, let's go...
Top Rage for July 1998...
I sincerely believe that most terminated post office workers automatically apply for, and are hired by...
U.P.S.
My wife and I were a host family for two Junior League hockey players last season. Mark, we were very proud of. He will be playing in the majors this year and will make lots of money. Rod, on the other hand, will more than likely find his calling in the wonderful and exciting world of fast-food preparation. He stayed with us six weeks after the season ended. Cathy finally threatened him if he didn't leave.
Rod decided to leave a package of CCM Canadian made white-ash hockey sticks with us when he left. For some funny reason, he felt confident he was going to be asked back to play for the same team again next season. Even funnier, he felt confident he was going to be asked to come back and live with us.
Now these sticks have been sitting in my garage since September of 1997. They are still wrapped in the package with which they were delivered, by UPS. Rod called me last week and asked if I could mail them back to him. The ice obviously doesn't melt in Calgary by the month of July.
I take these sticks to the UPS distribution centre (notice the Canadian spelling of centre), located in Redmond. I fill out what looks like the correct paperwork (HAHAHAHA), then stand in line for ten minutes. When it's my turn, I stepped forward, and was promptly told I filled out the wrong paperwork. They gave me two, multi-sheet forms to fill out since this material I was mailing was crossing American borders, and into Canadaland. Second, I was informed by the UPS worker that my sticks would not fit on the scale, so there wasn't really any way in which they could weigh them... I would have to take them to the post office. You see, their scales were inset into the counter. They weren't screwed in, the scales just sat in this hole. If they wanted, they could LIFT the scales OUT of the hole, and place it on the countertop. As I walked back to the end of the line to fill out my forms, I mentioned this to the person. She stood there staring for about thirty seconds, probably contemplating whether she could apply this new revelation to when she played golf ("...hmmmm, I'll bet I wouldn't need to bring 18 golf balls everytime I played...").
Anyway, I take ten minutes filling out the forms. I then wait my turn. After another ten minutes of waiting in line, another person helps me. She informs me "You can't send these through us, sir. They're not wrapped properly". I asked "You mean UPS can deliver them to me like this, but I can't turn around and send them back?" "Yes" she replies, "That is correct". I knew I would get her on my next question: "Why can't I?" Very quickly she responded "I don't know". I felt like Homer Simpson trying to get that letter sent to Mr. Burns from the post office... you know which one I'm talking about.
She ends up leaving her post, and calls her supervisor on the phone (another five minutes). For those keeping score, I have now been in the UPS office a little more than thirty-five minutes. Meanwhile, people are lined up out the door. I can't see their eyes, or the anger held within them, but I know I am the most hated person in that building at that time.
She returns and tells me they will take them, but there's no guarantee they won't be damaged. I told her I expected nothing more from this fine company. She looks at my paperwork, and informs me I didn't fill out the paperwork completely...."Here, under 'Delivered To'...you said Calgary, Alberta.... but you need to put the country down too" I apologized and asked her to fill in 'East Bolivia' for me. By this time, no amount of my hilarious humor was going to ease the tension between this person and myself.
"I can't weight these sticks. You need to take them to the post office" she says. I showed her how to pick up the damn scale and place it on the counter. I was going to ask her if she played golf, but thought better of it. Minutes go by as she weighs and measures these things. It takes her another ten minutes to check my paperwork, and fill out some of her own paperwork. She questions me on the estimated cost of six CCM Canadian made, white-ash hockey sticks. "These really cost $180?"
"White ash must be on their endangered species list" I said. That seemed to make sense to her because she took the sticks off the scale and said it would cost $11.75 to mail them ground. "...or would you like them delivered by air?" I asked how much was air. She said $18.24. I said okay, let's do it by air. I gave her my credit card. She looked at me, then the credit card, then back at me and said "We don't take credit card for air service".
This poor innocent child, she had to be only 18 years old, if she was a day. I looked into her innocent, almost virginal face and asked "Why the fuck not, you simple-shit asshole?" Okay, I didn't exactly put it that way... but I'm pretty confident she knew what I was thinking. I was informed I could pay by credit card if it went by ground. I feel you can understand by now why I didn't ask the reasons for the air versus ground credit card issue. This took over five minutes because their magical credit card verifier, or whatever the hell you call that machine, wasn't working. I have now been in this UPS office for over an hour. I am now pissed. At that moment, I couldn't even think of joke about this situation.
As I am writing this note, somewhere between Redmond and Calgary Alberta, there are six Canadian made white ash hockey sticks sitting in the back of some UPS delivery truck, paid for with a credit card. They have probably already been used as crowbars to wedge all the other packages into this truck.
It wouldn't surprise me a bit if in the near future I received a letter from a Mr. Manuel Rodriquerlarar from East Bolivia, thanking me for the hockey sticks I sent him...
Click the hoppin' mad dude to set yourself free!!! |
 |