Going Postal with my Auto Correct

W H I N Y    W E D N E S D A Y 

It seems I never run out of things to complain about and question, and today is no exception.

The U.S. Postal System

Hopefully none of my blog readers are employed by this mediocre American institution. It wasn’t always a sub-par organization, though….

It use to stand for something. You could always count on the fact that your mailman would weather the storm and have your mail delivered on time. Rain, sleet, snow, etc., what ever Mother Nature could dish up your mailman was one step ahead of it. People use to give their mailman a Christmas present in gratitude for their great service. That’s right, people knew their mailman on a first name basis. Why sometimes people would name their children after them, er, I mean, well, that’s a story for a different day. Suffice it to say they were always very courteous. *wink* Anyway, the U.S. postal system used to operate like a well oiled machine.

Here’s your mail Mrs. Jones and some of my sperm.

And now…

The words, “going postal” don’t mean a special air rate, no, it means you finally flipped your lid and are this close to killing your co-workers. I don’t know, something tells me it’s not a great work environment over there with all those boxes and stamps? They’re always so mean and grumpy. As far as mail arriving on schedule each day, well, I’m lucky if I get it at all. In fact I think my guy has started skipping Saturday deliveries altogether. When I do get it, it’s usually my neighbor’s mail, and by “neighbor” I mean anyone who lives in a 5 mile radius. I used to get my mailman a little something for Christmas but I can’t do it anymore since everyday I have a different Joe delivering my mail. (Not literally, I’m sure they have different names like, Tom, Mike and John, etc.) One day I asked my mailman why I wasn’t getting my subscription magazines on time? He responded with, “They’re not really a priority.” Wow! I thought maybe I needed to pay extra for service like that? But no, having your mailman determine what you need delivered and what can wait is just part of the great service!

Now, instead of a well-oiled machine the U.S. postal service runs like my old lawn mower, an unreliable, sputtering piece of crap.

   Auto Correct

Is it possible that my auto-correct on my iPad has the IQ of an imbecile? I think it does. Either that or it’s a real jokester. (Now if I had written that on my iPad it would have changed “jokester” to “jockstrap”– see, this is what I’m dealing with.) I want one that actually minds it’s own business. Do they make those? Why does my auto correct think it needs to change “Gotcha” to “Gaucho?” Really? Is that what you think I wanted to say? You think I wanted to talk randomly about a cowboy from the South American pampas? Hey auto-correct, I got news for you, your not funny. 

Happy Hour

I don’t drink so I don’t know why this bothers me, but if Happy Hour is from 5 to 7, shouldn’t it be called Happy Hours?

The Service “Window”

Next time my cable or phone company gives me a “window” of more than a couple hours, I’m going to tell them that’s NOT a window, that’s a “french door,” and if it’s an all day proposition, I’m going to call it a “garage door.”  Let’s call it what it is, shall we?

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