After yesterday I wasn't going to put up with much more. It had been two weeks where I was hearing the same song and dance, though not on either of the two CDs I was waiting for.It was obvious that when the post office clerks wrote my name and address on scratch paper they had no intention of giving the information to the substitute mailman. On this, the fourteenth day, I was ready to suggest pestering the Office of the Inspector General if I didn't receive my parcel or proper compensation.
Being jacked up on caffeine and adrenaline I made myself wait in the car for a couple minutes until I was sure I held enough control to give no one any excuse. I went to the post office and this time did something I hadn't actually thought of until that moment: I asked to speak with a Supervisor.
When I explained to him that I'd been there six times in two weeks, always going through the same routine, and without answers, he promised it would stop today. He took my info and disappeared for about ten minutes.
While standing at the dutch door waiting I saw one of those papers with my name and address handwritten in an inbox with a bunch of other scraps on the adjacent desk. Sitting idle just as I suspected.
The supervisor returned after actually calling the substitute mailman on his cell phone (something that could and should have been done two weeks ago.) The mailman claimed that, since my name on the parcel didn't match the name on the mailbox, he returned it to Amazon and must've entered it incorrectly for the Tracking Number. The Supervisor apologized profusely (something else that hadn't been done when the clerks under him shrugged their shoulders and said "oh well") and told me that Amazon should resend it, and that if they don't I can fill out a Riffled Mail form and the Post Office from whereever Amazon Central is located will take charge.
When I was able to get to Amazon's website I saw that they aren't able to resend returned packages but that full refunds are made and that of course I'd be able to reorder. I shot them an email to get that ball rolling.
Now, had I been told two weeks ago that the sub made a poor judgement call and returned my parcel I'd be annoyed but nowheres near inclined to spread the hate and venom on his name, family and genetic makeup. From what the clerks were telling me my parcel was bouncing along idly in the mailman's bag.
I'm still irritated that mailmen are allowed to decide on their own whether a person belongs to an address or not. I don't remember them ever taking the time to know my family or household in all the years I've been alive. In fact, my folks, at many homes, have been made to write "not at this address" on mis-addressed letters.
Amazon claims that it can be up to a month from the original shipping date before their refunds take effect. That means I have two more weeks, potentially, to wait before reordering since I'm not going to have another $30 taken from my account while waiting for the orignal phantom wad to return.
All I wanted was to own and listen to two compact discs. All I wanted was to experience Portland native Matt Ward's thematic album Transistor Radio which displays a "subtle optimism at work ... that was only hinted at on previous recordings." All I wanted was to be lost in the "intricate layers of distorted drums, organ, and guitar" provided by Deluth trio Low.
Lord, other men You made out of clay. The West Olympia post office clerks, who scratch their ass towards another government union paycheck when the supervisor isn't watching, You made out of pig shit.
