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Wednesday, August 6, 2003

Sometimes people should just listen. I didn't expect the clerk at the post office window to solve my problem, but I did want to tell him what my problem was. He didn't let me, so I'm going to tell you instead.

As you know (I love saying that), I never buy anything for myself in even-numbered months (like August, as a random example). So on the last day of July I went on a bit of an online spending spree. Nothing elaborate, just a book and a video. That's not really a spree, except in the sense that I won't be buying anything else until the first of September.

My last package should have been delivered by my mail carrier yesterday. Instead, she left me a note in the mailbox saying how "sorry" she was that she missed me, and that I could pick up the package at the local post office this morning, any time after ten. So I took the slip to the post office this morning and handed it to the clerk.

Now, I know that my carrier didn't try to bring the package to my door to get a signature. I know that because I was home all afternoon and found the notice in the mailbox the last time I checked. It makes me believe that it wasn't my regular carrier, because she always comes to my door when she has something that doesn't fit in the box.

5 August 2003

David and Tammy, my first photo of them since they became officially engaged.

The clerk this morning took the peach-colored notice and disappeared into the back room. When I caught a glimpse of him back there on the phone, I suspected I was in trouble. He came out and told me that my package wasn't in this office and it wasn't in the other office either. I started to tell him my story, and he talked right over me as he wrote down a phone number. He suggested that I call first before coming back, to save myself an unnecessary trip.

But— you see— I mean—

I was left there babbling at the window while he was motioning to the next person in line to step up. That pissed me off more than not getting my package. I wanted to tell him that my regular carrier always delivers my packages. I wanted him to know that I go to that post office every day anyway, and I'd expect my package to be there tomorrow.

It's not that I wanted to complain. I don't really believe in complaining for the sake of complaining. All I wanted to do was give them information that might help them find my package. All I wanted was to be sure they knew what I knew. I don't even remember what's supposed to be in the package, but I really wanted somebody to care that I didn't get it.

I spend enough time not being noticed. I don't need to be invisible at the post office.

5 August 2003

D.J. is singing. (He uses a lot of dramatic gestures.)
The reason Dakota is looking down is that he's wearing a pair of David's gigantic work boots.

Foolishly, I half expected that package to be delivered by my carrier this afternoon at the usual time. I mean, if it wasn't in the post office, maybe it was on the truck. That's what I thought. I was wrong, and now I have to think about it for one more day. If I don't get it tomorrow, then I will feel like complaining.

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Because of the way the California recall is set up, there's a good chance Arnold Schwarzenegger will become our governor on October 7. As much as I despise Gray Davis, I won't vote for him to be removed from office. I said I'd never vote for him again, and I won't, but I don't believe in the recall. It was way too easy for his political enemies (as opposed to his philosophical enemies, like me) to force a costly special election, and it's also too easy for anybody with a couple of thousand dollars in available cash to get on the ballot. The worst is that it takes only a plurality and not a majority, so whoever gets the most votes wins. That places too much weight on Arnold's name recognition and too little on his lack of credentials. It's a mighty mess.

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One year ago: Drive South
"I always feel better about my own problems if I can dump them on somebody else — especially if it's someone who knows what he's talking about."

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Me and you
Are subject to
The blues now and then.