Monday, November 05, 2007

Escape from Tardsville

Get me out of this fucking city!
If anyone has spent more than a month in DC, they'll know how fucking stupid the general populace is. It's a Sisyphean task just trying to buy a pack of smokes, let alone trying to take care of more complicated errands. North-West DC is the third circle of Dante's inferno.
It's gotten so bad that I rely on my trips back to Illinois for auto maintenance and Milo's veterinary visits. The rule of thumb for DC-area service is: If it's more complicated than a hand-job, go somewhere else (far-away) to get it done.
It's been a nightmare living with the DC postal service since I moved here 7 and 1/2 years ago. I know all of my neighbors very well for one reason: every afternoon around 6:45PM, we all get together and give each other the mail that was mistakenly delivered to the wrong address. It is an everyday occurrence. I've gotten my neighbors' outgoing mail, and they've all gotten my paychecks (on more than seven occasions). I've lost so much shit, it's not even funny - Try going door-to-door throughout your neighborhood asking everyone if they accidentally received your $1,500.00 mil-grade sniper scope. Then try explaining why you need a mil-grade sniper scope (it's for long-distance target shooting... no, really).
It's gotten to the point where I'll take all of my mail (from bills to WILTS) to a post office in the suburbs just to make sure that they get sent.
It's hard to top such spectacular incompetence, but today my mail-carrier reached a brand-new level of retardation. I came home to find this sticking out of my mail slot:Seriously; What the fuck?!?
The Mail-Tard tried sticking a package containing several bulky items through a mail slot that was half the width of the smallest item contained within the envelope. The fuck-wit jammed it in so far that I had to unscrew the mail-slot and disassemble the hinge just to get the package freed.
Tomorrow, it's all-out-war. I'm laying a trap. I'm not divulging the plan (for legal reasons), but it involves a taser, a large bag of rubber bands, a container of Chef Paul Prudhomme's Cayenne Chili Rub, and three speculums.
Oh, crap... I've said too much.
Forget everything I've said.

8 comments:

Chris B. said...

Taze me, bro!

Anonymous said...

Populace.

DC Liar said...

Populous - It's the Greek variation. Ooompah!
If that's the only typo I made when I cranked this out at 5AM, I'd be amazed.

Michael K said...

My mail carrier assumes that anyone with a name that ends in "ski" is probably related to me so I get their mail which I have to redistribute. It happens every day.

USPS - Chicago Branch said...

...so you're saying that you're not all related?

We figured that you all just shared an apartment.

edP said...

When I first saw the picture I thought Drinky Joe had a misadventure trying to get home and in bed (on your couch) last night.

The post was even funnier than my drunken Drinky Joe Mail Slot Fantasy

DeffoTotes said...

dude, you gotta live in the city to complain about its mail service. BURN.

DC Liar said...

Surprisingly, moving 3 blocks over the DC line doesn't seem to rectify the problem.
I'm sure that would have worked.
It's actually worse in Takoma than it was in South-West.