Goin’ Postal…

postman
Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds…yeah, right!!

Wipe that damn smile off your face, Mr. Postman.

I am going postal…literally. I was sequestered at home today to await delivery of a package I spent $80 (signature required) to mail from New York to Los Angeles.

Someone was home all day Tuesday and the mailman was too lazy to come upstairs and just left a notice in the mailbox.

I then spent 45 minutes on the phone with an electronic bitch trying for next day re-delivery and that was an impossible task.

Yesterday I flagged down a mailwoman departing the building who swore she would put the signed notice on the desk of the mailman who has my route.

Well it is 6:45 PT Thursday and no fricking package.

Alexander McQueen is in that parcel. I could not risk him causing a scene again at airport security and I could not, would not under any circumstances ever surrender the McQueen knuckler so I had to mail him.

Alexander McQueen Knuckle Clutch
Alexander McQueen Knuckle Clutch

Now I am empty handed, furious, frustrated and McQueenless.

To add insult to injury, I have been on hold with the USPS for 57 minutes. This leads me to believe that I will be standing in line at the Santa Monica post office tomorrow…Joy to the World, the post office 10 days before Christmas.

Fashion faux pas… Alexander McQueen is being mishandled by a bunch of overweight, hairy, blue collar men in shorts. I think McQueen finds their attire and lack of professionalism more of an affront than being squeezed between Ralph Lauren and Tory Burch in a nondescript box for days. I will rescue him tomorrow, come hell or high water.

No wonder the United States Postal Service is always in the red and constantly raising the price of stamps.

Mail it in, bitches and privatize.

 

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