With a title like that, you know I’m going to be impartial, right?
Several weeks ago, I ordered a couple of minifigures from Hero Forge, an awesome new-ish company that lets you design minifigures through their website. I’ve been wanting some of these minifigures for a long time and finally decided to reward myself for putting up with all this bullshit in my life without murdering anyone yet. Little did I know the real treat I was in for as the delightful service of the United States motherfucking Postal Service promptly transported my goodies all the way from New York, home of the mighty Shapeways, up to the frozen, god-forsaken land of Alaska. I didn’t even know my parts had printed, let alone shipped. I was goofing around one Cyber Monday afternoon and decided to check Hero Forge to see if it had any deals. There being none, I felt satisfied in not waiting for my purchase and decided to explore what I could of their website out of boredom and the strong desire to not do my homework. Oh, look, I have an account page I wasn’t even aware of. Oh, look, order history, cool! OH, LOOK, IT’S SHIPPED AND THERE’S TRACKING!! OH, FUCKING LOOK, IT SUPPOSEDLY ALREADY ARRIVED BUT FUCKING USPS DEEMED MY HOUSE UNWORTHY OF DELIVERY AND SO THEY JUST SHIPPED IT BACK TO SENDER BY GROUND WITHOUT TRACKING SO THAT IT WILL TAKE FUCKING FOREVER FOR IT TO REACH THE SENDER BEFORE IT CAN MAKE ITS SLOW CRAWL BACK TO FUCKING ALASKA FROM NEW YORK!! FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC!
So you may have noticed I’m a bit peeved. I ordered in time for my package to arrive before the craziness-of-everyone-trying-to-desperately-buy-love-from-people-by-sending-them-worthless-shit time. But now I’ll be lucky to get it this year. Or even at all. Because of a thing called UAA.
For those of you who don’t know what UAA is, just wait, it will probably happen to you too at some point, and then you too will get to experience the efficiency of the well-oiled machine that is our government postal service. UAA stands for Undeliverable as Addressed, which is a somewhat ambiguous phrase meaning, “Some little detail on your mail didn’t meet our criteria for us actually doing our jobs.” It can be anything from the legit reason of the address label getting so scraped up during transit it isn’t legible anymore to I didn’t feel good that day, so I didn’t want to do my job but still get paid anyway. Apparently. (I apologize to any of my readers who may be a mail carrier with the same enthusiasm I received from the customer service agents, yes, plural, that I talked to in the fruitless attempt to get answers.) The excuse I was given by the third person to try to appease me when I tried to get an answer for when the fuck can I expect my package to arrive was that I hadn’t declared that I lived there, so it’s actually my fault.
Uh, excuse me. . .? So why, then, is everyone else able to deliver to me except the USPS? Are you trying to tell me you delayed my package by another month for my “protection”? Yeah, I’m gonna call bullshit on that. And get this, the USPS wastes millions of dollars, nay, billions on UAAs. So not only do they get the satisfaction of fucking you over, they get the satisfaction of fucking themselves over. Oh, wait, but papa government can just give them more. So really, they’re just fucking us all over. Some of us twice.
You’d think if this was such a problem, they’d try to fix it. Like, maybe just change their policy so that they deliver things like how the private sector does? This was the first time I had a problem, and that’s because I’ve mainly received packages from FedEx and UPS. As soon as I try to get a package from USPS, everything falls to shit. If they had held my package even for a couple of days, I still would not have gone there in time, but I wouldn’t be so pissed off at them at least. And if they had decided to just contact the shipper who could have then contacted me, it would have saved so much time and money and I wouldn’t have felt the need to burn down every USPS within a 50 mile radius of me.
So really what I’m saying is, it isn’t my fault all those people were cremated alive. Not only should I be released immediately, but I should also have my package found, probably somewhere in Illinois or some such, and it should be flown in by helicopter to my address and placed gently into my waiting, eager hands by Megan Brennan. That isn’t too much to ask, I think.