This is about the U.S. Postal Service. I know, right? Incredible that anyone could have anything bad to say about that sacred institution.
So I found out some of my mail is being sent back with deceased/undeliverable on it. Fortunately, one time the sender put it in another envelope (enclosing all the stuff on the original envelope) and addressed it to me, and I received that one. I go to my trusty local PO and show it to them and explain the circumstances of what is being returned (items addressed to me as the trustee for my father’s living trust). She gives me a couple of phone numbers and says I have to call about it.
I have now called four times, leaving two or three days in between for return calls. The Supervisor was going to call me, the Manager was going to call me, etc. etc. No call. I am about to go … well, you know. I have no solution except to keep calling, because they won’t tell me where this place is (probably for good reason, considering the level of service they provide).
tl;dr sometimes the PO sucks at delivering clearly and correctly addressed mail.
Yes, “incredibly stupid and pointless” = “asshole.” Way to hit the nail on the head.
Also? Mountain =/= Molehill. Since Idle Thoughts is such a horrible person and that was the worst atrocity known to mankind in the past decade (at the very least), please, please, PLEASE make a separate thread ripping Idle Thoughts a new one for his lame joke.
I would *LOVE *to see how that goes. Take off the kid gloves, I implore you.
Two thoughts on circumventing - if it’s not a lot of senders, can you have the mailing address name changed to yours instead of the trust’s name, or, I wonder if just adding your dad’s name/trust name to your mailbox would do the trick. I know they’re not supposed to deliver mail to a box without the recipient’s name on it, so maybe that would capture the trust’s documents? Just floating a couple ideas in case they might work. I’ve heard many similar stories about how hard it is to contact relevant people at the PO!
I’m really tired of getting mail for people who lived here before. It’s also not even obviously junk mail that I can recycle, it’s stuff from insurance and the government and stuff. We sent most of it back with RTS on it or no longer in residence but we still get it. Personally I boggle at the fact that you wouldn’t change your address with the tax man or insurance. Last year I’m pretty sure we sent back a few checks.
There is a depression in my backyard, dog poops in it all through the winter. Over the past two weeks the snow melted and the turds dried, which is the optimal time to pick up dog shit. The first rain of the year is a joyous event in my life, I love rain. I should have seen the writing on the wall this afternoon and picked it up, but I didn’t we got a torrential downpour and now I have dog shit creek in my backyard.
Need to buy toiletries, because someone saw mine and thought “what is this doing here?” and removed them: not what you’d call a surprise.
A combination of signs that people have been in the house during Mom’s hospital stay and of things that shouldn’t be where they are, such as those two poor potted plants in the washbasin, looking more dead than alive because they haven’t been watered since Mom put them there two weeks ago: expected.
My clients setting me a meeting for 11am-1pm and one for 1pm-3pm my time: what the fuckety fuck? Yes, I know it’s the people from work, but the problem here is that it completely fucks up any decent shift-making or use of public transportation! Dammit guys, you know I flew all the way here because my mother is in the hospital, couldn’t you put all the meetings in the same half of the day? And when am I supposed to be having lunch, at Spanish-wedding-banquet hours?
We still get mail for my gf’s ex husband. A few years ago I began opening stuff and sending back handwritten replies explaining “It is my sorrowful duty to inform you of Anthony’s passing.” Seems to be working.
I have a phone number and can tell him to pick up his damn mail but I did that for a bit at the start and stopped PDQ. Then he texted me last week and asked about something he was expecting from insurance (!) so I told him to get it but when he didn’t I texted him again and told him to get it or I’m sending it back.
Now I have government mail for them again, last year I sent back checks (easy to tell through the window on the envelope) I don’t know what’s in these ones but it’s not checks. Today I’m going to call the CRA and ask them, probably RTS this stuff. They should have changed their address by now for important mail. Isn’t that moving 101?
Fucking VPN, fucking idiot working at the help desk, fucking phone menus, and motherfucking toddler tummy bugs!
Fuck you, VPN. If my password is expired and I try to log in, you just put me into an endless loop of prompts to change my password. Then when I called the hell desk, even the person I talked to couldn’t seem to figure out how to get out of this loop. I’m SURE this is not the first time someone has called with this fscking problem!
Then, after I finally get that problem fixed (which took over an HOUR), CVS calls me to set up a prescription refill. All well and good, but they give me a pickup time that is after I’m going away tomorrow. I need an earlier pickup time. Again, this would be a situation that you’d think would come up fairly frequently, and the fucking phone menu would have a way of dealing with it. Or at least of connecting me to a person who could deal with it. In both cases, nope. Had to hang up and call back (and go through the store’s phone menu hell) to talk to someone in the pharmacy.
On top of all this, Lil’ Neville got sent home from daycare yesterday because she had a tummy bug. I can’t send her back to daycare until 24 hours after any diarrhea or vomiting. She seems to be doing better, and has been since yesterday evening, but it hasn’t been 24 hours yet. I’ve been dealing with all of this with a toddler climbing on me and demanding stuff.
I want to pit-vent about people who seem so nice and rational and upstanding and then decide to put on crazy pants without warning. You might know the kind: some tiny incident tips them over the edge and they start alienating people right and left, blowing things completely out of proportion, telling lies every other word out of their mouth, threatening lawsuits for perceived insults, and screaming at everyone in a totally irrational way. My nonprofit is dealing with someone like this right now and we’re all kind of figuratively standing around and looking at each other going “what the fuhhhh…?” Fortunately, said person is only a volunteer, not someone on the board, so we can fairly easily get rid of her. But, oh, the three ring circus she’s causing in the process… phew!
I’ve been out for a few early season motorcycle rides. Between seasons I always forget that there is a substantial population of turd-boiler driving jag-offs who actively mess with motorcyclists. They tailgate, they do their best to prevent me from changing lanes, they are willing to risk my life to prove that_yes_ their rust speckled heap can too pass my bike.
Much of the time, a twist of the throttle causes them to vanish in my rear view and it is the end of the story. Sometimes, due to traffic, I’m forced to deal with one for several miles. Had one in a “monster pick-up” breathing down my neck in rush hour traffic on Monday.
About two weeks ago I bought a bag of Kettle Cooked Wasabi-Ginger potato chips just to check them out. Ate like 3, went ‘ok, but I can’t eat too many of these’ and put them away. An hour later I ate a few more. By the next morning, I had finished the bag.
A few days later I foolishly bought another bag. Again, it took me 2 days to eat them.
Then another. Then another, and I became hopelessly addicted.
I saw my doctor about this addiction. The only thing he could prescribe me to overcome it was pure heroin.
So now, in order to overcome my Wasabi-Ginger potato chip addiction, I’ve been forced to become a heroin addict.
Running late for work this morning, trying to race to the bus station. Which of course means it is the perfect time for everything possible to go wrong.
Come up to the four way stop. Three blocks back I see;
Car ahead of me sitting at the sign, signalling to turn right. Not moving.
Car to the left, half way out in the intersection, trying to go straight. Not moving.
Car coming from the other direction, signalling left, not moving.
I drive three fucking blocks to come up behind that sack of shit and nobody fucking moves.
I lay on the horn. They all stare at each other, they wave frantically at SoS and he finally, slowly, turns right. Car from the left goes. Car from other direction turns in front of me. I start to go. New car comes up from my right and blows right through stop sign right in front of me. :smack:
Get to the light to turn right onto main road. Car in front of me won’t turn no matter how many opportunities he’s given. I’m about ready to physically go around him when he finally turns and drives about 10mph on the 45mph road. I zip around him and see this fat stupid bearded fuck wearing a track suit and a backwards baseball cap.
Get to the transit station and run to the bus. Get on right behind this slow moving old man. Bus starts pulling away the second I walk on board. Old man just stands there slowly taking off his coat and laptop bag, right inside the door, oblivious to me behind him even after I cleared my throat. I didn’t say anything, but damn, just sit the fuck down already!
Wow, that’s vile. That’s just incredibly hateful and vile*. I get it that people hate their exes, but I don’t think that intentionally inflicting emotional distress UPON A THIRD PARTY is an appropriate response.
Besides, you could get in trouble. I saw a civil court case ( on TV, granted, but it was a real case ) where a guy got tired of getting wrong number calls for a particular person and started telling anyone that called for her that she had died in a tragic accident.
She found him and sued him for intentional infliction of emotional distress. she easily won and the guy that made the statements ended up looking like an idiot.
*Unless, of course, her ex really is deceased. Then nevermind.
Went out for an anniversary dinner last night to a great restaurant. Food was great, wine was good, server was attentive. And then there was the [del]woman[/del] braying jackass two tables down. You know the kind, the ones who feel that any mildly amusing remark is reason enough to go
BA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!
“Oh, look how earthy and real I am, everyone!” No, you’re just an asshole with a big mouth.
