Someone's in My Way... Again

Today was not a fun day to be outside around here. There was heavy rain and wind gusts of up to 50 miles an hour, I believe. But eBay beckoned and I had to drop a package at the post office. A rather large package, in fact, so I had to employ a couple of plastic bags to protect it from getting wet.

I also had to stop at the supermarket on my way home, which was my own fault—I could have gone yesterday when I didn't have anything else going on and it was cold but not raining. I caught a bus at Wellington and figured I'd have about a 10-minute window to run into the store and get back to the bus stop for my bus.

As usual, everything was fine until I got to the checkout. There was a woman ahead of me who seemed to be having a mental block as to how to slide her debit card through the machine. In fact, she said so, just so we all knew what was happening. She went on her way, I paid for my things, took a moment to organize them in the bag I'd used to carry the package, and turned toward the exit, where I found her again in front of me, stopped, with her cart blocking the door as she leaned over to pick up some sort of flyer.

Eventually she realized someone was behind her, and looked back at me and apologized. She moved on to the outer door, where she again stopped, looked out at the rain, and said, "Oh boy, would you look at that? It's really coming down." I said, "Yes, and now I have to run across the street and try to catch the bus, so could you please step aside?" She looked confused, but I didn't stick around for any other reaction because I didn't have time, and I was done with her.

But as I hurried across the parking lot, a monologue continued in my head, as it often does: If you could just withdraw from your bubble of self-involvement for a moment and realize that you're not the only person trying to leave the store, that would be great.

The Juror Is Out

Well, that was pretty painless. I got to the courthouse in Malden about half an hour early, and by 8:30 (the time we were supposed to report by) there were maybe eighteen people in the jury pool room. I was expecting a larger crowd, but the district court does things differently: juries there have only seven members (one is chosen as the alternate after the case has been presented). In Massachusetts, those called for jury duty serve for one day or one trial.

We were told there were a number of cases pending, but the judge wanted to first see how many might be resolved without trials. So we waited. I'd forgotten to bring a book, so after finishing the paper and doing the crossword, I was forced to endure a television playing talk shows like Dr. Oz and Wendy Williams.

Around noon, the judge came back to tell us that, of ten cases, all but two had been adjudicated, and the other two were being continued, so we were released. I didn't speak with any of the other jurors, but it was clear from his remarks to us that the judge took his work seriously and also that he enjoyed it, which is heartening.

One other observation: after arriving I had to sit in the lobby until it was time for us to go upstairs. While there, within the space of 60 seconds, two different people entered and said they were reporting to perform their community service. Both were told that only happens on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, and both were obviously unaware of this fact. I don't know what they did to be there, but you'd think they would have been told which day to report.

In Transit

I want to believe Verizon (naturally) when they tell me my iPhone has shipped and I will definitely receive it tomorrow, but the tracking number gives me only an error message, so it's making me a tiny bit nervous.

But I choose to remain optimistic. Then again, the address got mutated again. More and more lately, shippers are taking it upon themselves to alter the address I provide for shipments to my workplace. The address they're changing to is only slightly different, but it's enough to cause delivery problems. Looks like I will need to be extra-vigilant tomorrow.

A Lunch-Inspired Gripe

For lunch, I usually go to the cafeteria in the hospital next to my office and make a salad at the salad bar. The salad bar can be accessed on two sides, but a lot of people don't seem to realize that. I prefer going on the "back" side because it's less used, and I like to take my time so I'm less likely to be holding up the next person. I try to be considerate in that way, but not many others do.

But if I go too late, the back side gets blocked off so the staff can replenish the tasty veggies, and I have to use the front side, where I am inevitably hindered by the slow, clueless people making salads ahead of me. I just stood behind a woman who spent two solid minutes picking through the lettuce and carefully choosing pieces for her salad. It's iceberg lettuce—how much variation did she really think there was? (Besides which, iceberg has basically no nutritional value whatsoever, but that's another topic.)

If I ever lose it and start attacking people, I hope some editor has the presence of mind to call me the Salad Shooter...

Window of Futility

We have a working TiVo again, but of course the service call got screwed up. I had figured that a morning appointment was my best chance to make it to work within a couple of hours of when I'd normally get there, and if things had gone properly I would have.

My appointment window was from 8 to 11 AM. When no one had showed or called by 11:15 (the tech typically calls first to say he's on the way), I called Comcast, and was told the tech had tried to call me at 9:07 and had gotten no answer. Now, I wanted to believe them, but I know that this is completely untrue. I was showered and dressed by 8, just in case I happened to be the first call of the day, and I never strayed from the vicinity of the phone for the entire three hours.

In fact, I know my phone never even rang, because it would have shown up on the phone as a missed call. And after this conversation, they called me back just to make sure they had the right number on file. So maybe the tech attempted to call and the connection never went through, but that's as close to truth as I'm going to allow.

Anyway, typical service-call bullshit. I was able to get another appointment for the middle of the afternoon, and this time they did call me, and showed up shortly after, and got the CableCard working with no difficulty. So, much rejoicing, TV shows when we choose to watch them, etc.

Jingle Mind Control

I'm feeling oddly drawn to that strange song in the McDonald's Filet-O-Fish commercial. It's irrational, I know, but I kind of like it. And I'm not alone; the traffic guy and the weather guy on NECN busted out singing it this morning. It's insidious...

Not-So-Speedy Delivery

I've been doing a fair bit of shopping lately. Not for the holidays, but for myself, though when I do set out to shop for others, I usually end up buying stuff for myself as well. There are just so many good deals to be found these days, and I've needed some fall and winter clothing.

Over the years I think I've gotten pickier about quality, and I've learned a lot from my attorney friend DC, who has seemingly been aware of this stuff since he was in grade school. So one day a few weeks ago I was roaming around the dusty back halls of eBay and I came across a guy selling new Allen Edmonds belts. I remembered that my friend likes their shoes and belts partly because they are made in the USA (although he says they seem to have slipped a little since the company was sold a couple of years ago). To my surprise, the seller had eight or ten belts in my size. (I'm not a weird size, and that's often a problem--too common.)

The belt I bought ended up costing me $40. That might seem like a lot for a belt, but it's really only slightly more than you would pay for a lesser-quality belt from your local department store, and half of its retail price, plus it happens to match a couple of pairs of my shoes nicely. The seller shipped it on Monday, November 3rd, and that's where the story gets a little more interesting, because it's not really about the belt, but about what happened to it on its way to me.

Not all sellers bother to tell you that they have shipped your item (I always do, so remember that when I start auctioning things), so I've learned to be patient. I have never not received an item I bought on eBay, which I guess makes me pretty lucky. Typically I wait least a week before I send an email to the seller asking about the status of the package. In this case, I waited a little more than a week, until the day after Veterans' Day, since holidays can screw with delivery times.

He responded and gave me the tracking number, and said he had checked the tracking and it said the package had arrived in Boston that day. I went and had a look for myself. What he'd neglected to say was that it was the third time it had arrived in Boston. At this point, I think it would be slightly more entertaining if l just post the whole tracking sequence here:

• Acceptance, November 03, 2008, 3:44 pm, PALM DESERT, CA 92260
• Processed, November 03, 2008, 6:54 pm, SAN BERNARDINO, CA 92403
• Processed, November 05, 2008, 4:31 am, ALBANY, NY 12288
• Arrival at Unit, November 05, 2008, 7:44 am, SCHENEVUS, NY 12155
• Missent, November 05, 2008, 8:51 am
• Processed, November 06, 2008, 12:18 am, SPRINGFIELD, MA 01152
• Processed, November 06, 2008, 4:30 am, BOSTON, MA 02205
• Processed, November 08, 2008, 2:34 am, ALBANY, NY 12288
• Processed, November 08, 2008, 11:45 pm, SPRINGFIELD, MA 01152
• Processed, November 09, 2008, 8:43 pm, BOSTON, MA 02205
• Processed, November 11, 2008, 12:38 am, SPRINGFIELD, MA 01152
• Processed, November 12, 2008, 12:46 am, BOSTON, MA 02205
• Processed, November 13, 2008, 5:06 pm, ALBANY, NY 12288
• Processed, November 16, 2008, 11:18 pm, BOSTON, MA 02205
• Delivered, November 17, 2008, 11:03 am, MEDFORD, MA 02155

So, a priority mail package that typically takes three days to cross the country took two weeks to get to me. That's what happened, but why? If you look at the sequence, you can kind of figure it out. Where it says "arrival at unit," you see that it's some place in New York state that I've never heard of. I went over to Google Maps and found that Schenevus is about 35 miles southwest of Schenectady, on the way to Binghamton. Its zip code is the same as mine, except for the first digit, and that's the key to the whole fiasco. That's why it says "missent" right under that entry. From there, it seems like it would be a relatively simple fix to get the package back on the right track, but it bounces back and forth between Boston and Albany for another week and a half before finally making it to its destination.

In hindsight, everything becomes clear. When I got the package, I expected the seller to have botched my address, but he didn't. It was correct and perfectly legible. But the person who processed the package at the seller's post office entered the wrong zip code when they printed the little postage label with the bar code. Right under the bar code, a little "12155" was plainly visible, and that was the problem. The automated scanners kept putting the package back into the system, and the system kept trying to send it to zip code 12155, which I guess is what it's supposed to do. Eventually a human must have figured it out and intervened, because there was a thick black magic marker slash through the bar code and the zip code on the little label.

After all that, I was expecting that there would be something wrong with the belt, but it was fine. But I guess we're going to have to keep a closer eye on those postal workers.

Lunch Is Hell

I couldn't decide what to get for lunch today. I was already in the Longwood Galleria, but I wasn't in the mood for my usual Sami's falafel and tabooli combo, so I decided to get something from Subway. I really should know better. The line seemed short, but it took me five or six minutes to escape with a small tuna sandwich.

I'm fairly confident that hell is going to turn out to be very much like waiting in line at a Subway. There are five or six people behind the counter, and at first it appears that each one has a specific task to do as part of the assembly-line preparation of your sandwich. The first person gets the basics: what you want, and what kind of bread you want it on (they have five kinds, in case you haven't been in a Subway in a while). And that person always asks, "Do you want cheese on it?" Did I ask for cheese on it? But see, "with cheese" is the default setting, unless you say otherwise. At least they ask, right?

But in reality, chaos reigns. Everyone is running around and bumping into each other and talking to each other all at once. Meanwhile, your bare, open sandwich sits there on the counter while one person is refilling the bins of onions and lettuce instead of moving your order along, and you're standing there thinking (hopefully not aloud, for your sake) MAKE MY FUCKING SANDWICH, YOU MORON.

Eventually my food got the attention of the person whose job is to add the toppings. Now, I have to be honest, one of the things I do like about Subway is the variety of stuff you can get on your sandwich. Most places have lettuce, tomatoes, onions, and maybe pickles. Subway has cucumbers, several varieties of peppers, and olives. I love olives, especially on tuna, so this pleases me. Also, they have all these sauces, like teriyaki and sweet onion. These are just salad dressings, a trick I've used on home-prepared sandwiches for decades, but they do add to the overall sandwich flavor experience.

However, an abundance of toppings doesn't excuse or make up for poor service. Just as my sandwich was about to be passed to the cashier, a rather hefty woman slid up on the other side of me and distracted the person at the register. "I just want six cookies." The cookies are in a little plastic case in front of the register, so I guess that means if you just want a cookie (or six, you pig), you don't have to wait in line like everyone else. How convenient for you.

I'm trying to eat more sensibly these days, and about the only reason I even go there at all is because their small sandwich, on a 6" roll, is just enough food for lunch. But it's just not worth the trouble, because I'm afraid I could end up murdering someone while waiting for my 6" tuna sub, and I suspect a prison diet would be very starchy.

Ice Cream Hassles

Today there was an ice cream party at work for the whole campus, outside on the lawn. One of my coworkers sent an email suggesting that those who wanted to go should meet in our lobby and we could all walk over together. When we arrived, there were probably about a hundred people already in line in front of us, so we got in line and waited. Someone came along and asked if we were all from the same office or group, and snapped a few photos of us.

The line moved along, and when there were about ten people left ahead of us, someone came up and said, "I'm sorry, but we've run out of ice cream." I looked behind us, and there were (I'm estimating) about another two hundred people in line. We looked at each other, shrugged, and headed back toward our office. One of my coworkers turned around and said, "I thought she was kidding!" Another said, "What did they do, buy five gallons of ice cream and figure that would be enough?"

We were disappointed not to get our treats, but the predominant thought among us was, how could such an event have been planned so poorly? It was teased via email for a week. Is there no rough estimate of the number of students and staff on the campus on a given day? Would an ice cream riot have been an inappropriate response?