Wednesday, July 21, 2004
universal humor...
You've agreed - a time away. Space to collect your thoughts, to work everything out so that you can come back to the friendship with a clear head and heart. You and he think it's a good idea.
The universe has other ideas. More specifically, UPS and your computer. You had given him the laptop of one of the SisterCompany's sales reps to work on, as it had decided the day before that it no longer wished to be of use. There were cords and disks the rep had not given to you, so you get them, send them via UPS overnight. Piece of cake, right?
Wrong. So very, very wrong. The package never arrives. An "Attempted Delivery" sticker is left on the gate behind which his apartment does not lie, when there is no reason for it to be left because he was home, waiting for the package. He calls UPS and arranges for a Monday morning delivery, with explicit instructions as to the location of his apartment - where, again, there is no gate access - then he e-mails you to let you know, his obscenity-laced words conveying his displeasure.
Monday arrives and yet again there is no delivery, despite the instructions, despite the phone call. Once again you receive an e-mail, devoid of obscenity but still clearly not happy about the incompetence of those at UPS. He calls Customer Service. You call Customer Service. Both of you tell the people at the other end of the line the situation and you hope that it gets straightened out.
Apparently you're both outrageously optimistic because it is now Tuesday morning and the delivery man pulls the same fucking stunt. His newest e-mail is, quite understandably, the angriest yet. Not that he's angry at you, because he knows where the idiocy lies (though it is true that, in your original haste, you put down the wrong apartment number, but he had given them the correct information during his first and second calls), but still he's angry.
And so are you. More calls are made, more assholes reamed, and promises are offered. He has to leave for another job, so on his second call that day to them he leaves his cell phone number. You call him to see if they followed up as he was promised. His answer is negative and you hop on the phone yet again. Though you neither yell nor use profanity, the customer service representative on the other end is very quickly clear about the fact that you are furious at the incompetence of someone - make that several someones -down the line. While you do not rip her a new asshole, her bottom is nonetheless now very sore. But she is able to calm you down just a little. She mentions a "successful connection" note on her logs, which you say is impossible unless the local center called him on his home number - after he had given his cell number - left a message and marked that as successful. When you find out later that day that was, in fact, the case, you laugh despite the shiver that run up your spine. Damn, you're good. She sends a message to the local center, marking it "Refund" so that they know they have well and truly fucked up.
Here it is, Wednesday morning, and you receive an e-mail. From him. Miracles happen, proof of G-d exists: the package was delivered. Despite the local center's early morning call that divulged the fact that someone, once again, did not pass on the painstakingly detailed instructions imparted by both him and you to your respective CSRs during the previous 37 billion calls. And the driver that arrived two hours later had NO information as to the apartment's whereabouts, no doubt a blank expression in the face of the facts presented. He hypothesizes the existence of an alien brain softening virus infecting UPS, expresses concern about a mutual friend that works there, and you agree that must be the explanation for the flat out incompetence of so many people in a single company.
Still, the package is there. Finally.
So, all that remains is for him to work on the laptop and get it back to you, right? And then the break can commence.
Wrong. Oh, how wrong you are, you silly mortal. Because your computer is having a field day, not letting you open certain sites and booting up all on its lonesome, logging itself on the internet when you're not home, so now you have to remember to turn off the external modem when you turn off the computer. And there are a few other things you can't recall when you e-mail him. He had said that he would look at your computer before you proposed space. And you really don't want to have to put up with two or three months of a wonky computer. You would prefer to get it done quickly, so that space-time can commence, but there are schedules to be worked out.
As a result of the UPS moronity (not a word, but you don't care) and your own precious computer, in the past week you have communicated with each other every day, via e-mail and/or phone, trying to get everything ironed out. You suspect the universe is laughing its ass off right about now. You decide to laugh along, because really, what else can you do?
The universe just has a hell of a sense of humor, doesn't it?
The universe has other ideas. More specifically, UPS and your computer. You had given him the laptop of one of the SisterCompany's sales reps to work on, as it had decided the day before that it no longer wished to be of use. There were cords and disks the rep had not given to you, so you get them, send them via UPS overnight. Piece of cake, right?
Wrong. So very, very wrong. The package never arrives. An "Attempted Delivery" sticker is left on the gate behind which his apartment does not lie, when there is no reason for it to be left because he was home, waiting for the package. He calls UPS and arranges for a Monday morning delivery, with explicit instructions as to the location of his apartment - where, again, there is no gate access - then he e-mails you to let you know, his obscenity-laced words conveying his displeasure.
Monday arrives and yet again there is no delivery, despite the instructions, despite the phone call. Once again you receive an e-mail, devoid of obscenity but still clearly not happy about the incompetence of those at UPS. He calls Customer Service. You call Customer Service. Both of you tell the people at the other end of the line the situation and you hope that it gets straightened out.
Apparently you're both outrageously optimistic because it is now Tuesday morning and the delivery man pulls the same fucking stunt. His newest e-mail is, quite understandably, the angriest yet. Not that he's angry at you, because he knows where the idiocy lies (though it is true that, in your original haste, you put down the wrong apartment number, but he had given them the correct information during his first and second calls), but still he's angry.
And so are you. More calls are made, more assholes reamed, and promises are offered. He has to leave for another job, so on his second call that day to them he leaves his cell phone number. You call him to see if they followed up as he was promised. His answer is negative and you hop on the phone yet again. Though you neither yell nor use profanity, the customer service representative on the other end is very quickly clear about the fact that you are furious at the incompetence of someone - make that several someones -down the line. While you do not rip her a new asshole, her bottom is nonetheless now very sore. But she is able to calm you down just a little. She mentions a "successful connection" note on her logs, which you say is impossible unless the local center called him on his home number - after he had given his cell number - left a message and marked that as successful. When you find out later that day that was, in fact, the case, you laugh despite the shiver that run up your spine. Damn, you're good. She sends a message to the local center, marking it "Refund" so that they know they have well and truly fucked up.
Here it is, Wednesday morning, and you receive an e-mail. From him. Miracles happen, proof of G-d exists: the package was delivered. Despite the local center's early morning call that divulged the fact that someone, once again, did not pass on the painstakingly detailed instructions imparted by both him and you to your respective CSRs during the previous 37 billion calls. And the driver that arrived two hours later had NO information as to the apartment's whereabouts, no doubt a blank expression in the face of the facts presented. He hypothesizes the existence of an alien brain softening virus infecting UPS, expresses concern about a mutual friend that works there, and you agree that must be the explanation for the flat out incompetence of so many people in a single company.
Still, the package is there. Finally.
So, all that remains is for him to work on the laptop and get it back to you, right? And then the break can commence.
Wrong. Oh, how wrong you are, you silly mortal. Because your computer is having a field day, not letting you open certain sites and booting up all on its lonesome, logging itself on the internet when you're not home, so now you have to remember to turn off the external modem when you turn off the computer. And there are a few other things you can't recall when you e-mail him. He had said that he would look at your computer before you proposed space. And you really don't want to have to put up with two or three months of a wonky computer. You would prefer to get it done quickly, so that space-time can commence, but there are schedules to be worked out.
As a result of the UPS moronity (not a word, but you don't care) and your own precious computer, in the past week you have communicated with each other every day, via e-mail and/or phone, trying to get everything ironed out. You suspect the universe is laughing its ass off right about now. You decide to laugh along, because really, what else can you do?
The universe just has a hell of a sense of humor, doesn't it?
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