yet another reason (a throwback)

i always thought the mail room was the entry level of entry level corporate gigs…

…well, if that’s the case these guys have no career aspirations for the immediate future.

i recently re-did my mortgage. actually, it’s not completely re-done, thanks to the incompetency of my mail room at work. you see, i took time off my hectic work schedule to go get tons of shit notarized and witnessed and such on monday, and then dropped it off at the mail center in my building at 2:30 pm, since it’s clearly marked that all pick-ups would be made at 4:00 pm. since it was in a pre-addressed, prepaid overnight envelope, i figured it would arrive by close of business tuesday, easily meeting the deadline of noon wednesday.

my mobile went off today…at 12:06 pm.

guess who it was…

the mortgage chica started up with the blame game and about how i wasn’t taking my end of things seriously, etc, etc…when i told her the story i just told you, she suggested i go back to the mail room and see what was up, and she would keep an eye out on her end, and call me back friday to advise me as to how things were going.

i now know how things are going. her package is in my car.

when i got to the mail room, i was buzzed in, and told them i had sent something ups on monday that not only had not arrived, but with the tracking number already assigned they could see that ups hadn’t even recieved.

i was pointed to a woman six feet away from the first person i talked to and told to ask her.

i did.

she handed me off to a gentleman eight feet from herself, and i had to repeat my story a third time as he had earbuds in listening to an mp3 player while he sorted shit and therefore didn’t hear the previous two presentations that had taken place within twelve feet of him. he walked me another six feet around a corner where there was shelf mounted on the wall with a big “UPS” label over it. on the shelf sat a lone envelope.

guess what it was.

he handed it to me without expression and just flatly said, “ups doesn’t pick up here any more…”, shrugged his shoulders, and walked off. i grabbed him by the arm and drug him out of the mail room to the wall where all the slots were and pointed to the one i had shoved my stuff in (and almost shoved him in at this point) that was clearly labeled “DHL – Fed Ex – UPS”. i then pulled the sharpie off his lanyard and proceeded to black out the letters “UPS” at the end of the label saying, “lets make sure nobody ELSE goes through his bullshit”.

i then walked back in only to be greeted by his supervisor who, still with no apologies about this, directed me to some mailbox place across the street, but by the time i got out of work they were closed.

welcome to my world.

i called my mortgage chica and left her voicemail…but if this costs me any kind of extra money, i am SO not paying for it. mail boy is. i mean, how hard would it have been to walk the thing up two flights of stairs to my desk. what the fuck?

“neither rain nor sleet nor snow shall stay these carriers from the posted rounds…but stairs? fuck all that!!!”