I'm squabbling with the local newspaper circulation department. It's been going on for over a month now, since the paper was sold to another publisher and our long-time delivery guy decided to pack it in, since he had to drive so far to the new distribution center to gather up his store of papers in the middle of the night for early morning delivery.
He was a gem; I miss him. He would tuck little typed notes (typos, questionable grammar, and misspellings, notwithstanding) into the paper whenever he went on vacation to let us know we'd have a substitute and he hoped all would go well in his absence. In December we'd get a holiday card from him with a note about it being his pleasure to serve us. The cynical may have seen this as a thinly veiled plea for a Christmas tip, but I just thought it was a sweet, old-fashioned thing to do. And I always sent him a hefty tip anyway, because he truly deserved it.
Our house is on a hill. We have a steep driveway and about 1/3 of the way up a set of 15 cement stairs arches up to a short sidewalk, then 8 more stairs to our front porch. It's a work-out, as our visitors can attest. Our former delivery guy somehow managed to get our paper, without fail, to the top of those 15 stairs and onto the sidewalk along the front of our house. I thought that was remarkable. I never expected porch delivery and would have compromised with just getting it on the stairs somewhere. But he always had it all the up and easy to grab -- even on those rare winter mornings when the whole driveway and stairway might be covered in snow.
So, the new guy….the first 2 weeks I went on a morning scavenger hunt as he seemed to unclear and inaccurate about where to toss the paper from his moving car (that's my best guess as to the silly places I found my paper). I called to issue a little complaint and offer some helpful hints. Circulation said they'd pass my comments on. I was super nice and understanding of the learning curve of a new driver.
The next week I found my paper at the very top of my driveway outside the garage door. Not the most obvious place (not at our house, anyway), but acceptable. So, I thought, OK…new plan. Fine. But one morning I went out to find that the guy had had a bit of trouble backing down our steep, narrow drive and had veered off into the azaleas, smashing a couple to the ground and leaving tire tread in the drive where he must have had to spin his wheels to get traction with all that shrubbery he was dragging along holding him back. I made another call, recommending that coming all the way up our driveway was treacherous and unnecessary. I was pretty nice about the azaleas. I'm an understanding and patient person, in general.
Every day since then, the paper has barely made it onto our property. The guy must have decided he was jinxed by the azalea episode and now won't set his wheels or feet anywhere closer than dropping the paper out the window as he drives by. I've called on this unacceptable practice twice now. For a few days this week he did manage to toss it up the drive in the vicinity of the bottom of those 15 stairs and I was ready to live with this, thinking it is good exercise. But this morning, again, I found the fat Sunday paper hovering just at the property line between driveway and street.
Last time I called I was not so kind and asked for a call-back from the delivery supervisor. Never heard from him. I also made a modest threat that I might have to cancel my paper. But I know I don't want to.
I love sitting down with the morning paper. I've been a home delivery subscriber since 1982, when we moved into this house. I don't like reading the on-line version (which they just announced will become a subscription and not free anymore). But I am at the mercy of a confused, stubborn, lazy delivery guy and it pisses me off. I don't like feeling ignored and helpless. And I realize I'm just talking about a silly little newspaper….
I realize there are huge systems in place these days that ignore the truly helpless and my little foray into the relatively trivial abyss of this situation is more comical than tragic. Still. Some morning I might just lie in wait to wave my broom at him as he does his shoddy drive-by.
At least, that's the view from here….©
We had a substitute-became-permanent delivery person - they delivered everything to the BACK of the condo - which meant I had (at that time my arm was in a cast) Four doors to open to get to my paper. I called. And called. My husband called. And called. Finally the supervisor came out and saw the problem and then (a few weeks later) everything got better. Keep at it, dearest Ivy. The persistent can win the race.
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