| 7:36p |
Why Not...
So I ordered this "jewelry" item from an online company, got the order confirmation AND the shipping info, which DID confirm that it had left the shipping facility via the United States Postal Service. Yesterday, upon checking the tracking information status, I had noted that a delivery confirmation had been posted, informing me that I had my item in the mailbox. Of course there was no such item i
n my box neither yesterday or today, thus beginning the ever-loved process of navigating half-assed automated customer service resources. By the end of SEVERAL disconnects, malfunctioning auto-systems which would cut me off in the middle of my key pushing, and redundant monotone computer messages, I was no closer to holding said item.
The rage swelled.
I FINALLY got in my car and drove up to my local sorting facility, wielding Banger and a viking's lust for conquest. After spilling out of my ride, gripping and empty bottle of Heaven Hill vodka in one hand, and my battle-scarred meat hammer in the other, I stormed the castle's front door, wildly, violently casting postal service customers to either side of my advance. As soon as I flung the fucking doors open, government werkers began to scatter like cockroaches fleeing a midnight snacker stalking through a freshly-lit kitchen. It was at this point when I likened myself to a particular character in an old John Cusack movie, menacingly hunting down his two dollars. As my raging intent bounded atop the business counter, Banger could be felt swelling with the anticipation of letting loose the Torrents of Judgement. I howled and ranted in the general direction of the scrambling werkers, spitting daggers of an unfathomable language towards anyone within earshot of my anger. As the horrified masses began to cluster up in the corner, huddled like frightened slaves avoiding the lion in a Roman arena of death, I jacked my war hammer of hate to a semi-turgid state and muttered a final few werds of intent before unleashing Hell.
"How DARE you werthless government fucks deny me my parcel! How DARE you cock-toking fuckwaffles give me the runaround, assuring your doom with each passing minute, with each muttered excuse!!"
And with the spin of the last hate-filled werd, I began to chuck the torrents of unbridled hatred upon my weakened and wholly defeated foe. With my jaw cocked, my head back and swaying to the rhythm of destruction, I firehosed the insolent postal service werkers as they desperately clawed and fought back. With each passing moment, a postal werker would find the space needed to escape the raging jets of hot coconut oil. And with each of these brave attempts, I'd line them up and blast them back into the fold of death. After what seemed like an eternity of assault, the cries and writhing began to die off, like those slaves bleeding out before the attacking lion. One by one the werkers began to crumble to the floor, drowned and battered, until the final whisps of life departed my defeated foe.
As my swelling rage began to wane, and my war hammer of vengeance finished off its pressurized cauldron of pearlescent destruction, I clambered down from my battle ground, tucked my pride, and sauntered back out to my idling tank of hate...
Actually, I didn't do much of that last part. I just made a couple of phone calls and the USPS had their delivery guy run my item out to me with apologies and kindness. Apparently, they had mistakenly delivered it to a house a couple of streets over. Shit happens. Werd. :) |