Tuesday, March 04, 2008

What Can Brown...

My local NBC affiliate just interrupted Oprah's hard-hitting look at constipated truck drivers (no foolin')* to showcase the local radar, which is currently a haphazard mess of color, like someone dropkicked Punky Brewster directly onto SuperDoppler 12.

I knew that we'd be spending the day listening to the bleeps of the the weather ticker techno, so I broke free from my busy morning of making bread pancakes** to take Pigpen for an early walk. We hadn't even gotten past the parking lot before he started making out with a packet of Arby's Horsey Sauce that had been splattered all over the pavement, a tiny condiment crime scene. While I gave his leash a two-handed tug and made a mental note to stop letting him lick my mouth--probably a good practice even when he hasn't been eating garbage-- the UPS truck rumbled into the lot. I waved to the driver while wondering what it would be like to slip into the same single-color uniform every day, even though you could select from a variety of "Choose Your Own Burnt Umber Adventure" seasonal variations. On the one hand, it wouldn't show gravy stains. On the other, it makes you look like a pinecone.

I was actually expecting a delivery today. After Sunday's sixteener, my sneaks were officially retired, since they'd reached that worn out, blown out stage where they had all of the cushioning of a swoosh-stickered George Foreman grill. So I sat them down and softly told them about the special farm, then coolly tossed them into the back of my closet with the other things I'll probably never use again, like my interview suit or my vagina.

Enter Zappos dot com, who not only carried my shoe but placed a blinking ONLY THREE PAIR LEFT! graphic beside my size, ensuring that I'd click "add to cart" before any other size 8 overpronater could snatch them away. Zappos immediately sent me a politely worded email beginning with "Good News!" (a phrase I assumed would be followed by "Your credit card wasn't declined this time!") telling me that because I am a special little snowflake, they'd given me free overnight shipping. Oh, Zappos. You tell that to all the girls.

I finished wiping Pigpen's face on my sleeve, dragged him around the block where he liberally sampled from each flower bed buffet, and arrived back home expecting to find the corrugated cardboard baby that had been dropped on my doorstep. But there was nothing. No box, no shoes, no baby. No Stairway! Denied! There wasn't even a brown and yellow check yes-or-no style note saying that they'd attempted delivery.

Maybe Zappos had changed his little automated mind. Maybe I wasn't a special snowflake and was in fact a toxic droplet of acid rain who didn't warrant the overnight upgrade. I raced to the computer and feverishly typed in my tracking number, staring intensely at the screen like Sandra Bullock at her most Net-tastic. I was rewarded with this:

Nice work, Josh, you brown shirted bastard.

He didn't attempt to deliver it. He didn't even get out of the truck, a douchetacular decision since there isn't even a DOOR blocking his transition from driver's seat to driveway.

Now, I know this UPS guy. He knows my name, my address, the jagged peaks of my EKG-style signature. Not only does he visit my apartment more frequently than anyone but Domino's and Crushing Disappointment, we also see each other regularly at the YMCA where he rocks a pair of Eric Dickerson-era rec specs as he splashes through his own sweat puddles on the squash court. I pass him in the lobby, glance at his spandex-covered crotch and always make the same inappropriate 'package handling' joke to myself. So obviously he could've shouted at me and I would have rushed the back of his truck like he was Frank Lucas handing out holiday turkeys.

Instead, I had to go closet spelunking, rescuing my scorned sneakers for the afternoon's brutal seven miler. They responded by shredding my shins like an unwanted credit card offer.

What can brown do for me? Jack shit.
Draw that on your dry erase, you smug neckless spokesman.

* Saying "I shit you not"--while appropriately descriptive--would've just been tacky
** Recipe: Take slice of bread, mash flat with massive hardcover Jamie Oliver cookbook, add syrup, eat.


Birdwatching From Mars said...

I occasionally giggled like a school-girl through most of this (particuarly about your vagina being in the cloert; I can relate because my testicles are often found in the medicine cabinet). But my giggles became vanilla-latte-trickling-from-my-nostrils laughter when I got to the pic of the UPS artist douchecake(TM) drawing the stick figure. Well done!

Birdwatching From Mars said...

oh, and "cloert" = closet. It must have been the vanilla latte coming from my nose, confusing my fingers as they typed..

Perfectly Shelly said...

Oh yea---you are definately my new BFF. There must be some artistic license taken with your jobless status, because there is NO WAY someone important hasn't snapped you up. Sheesh, you make me laugh out loud, which is fine, except when trying to help customers on the phone.

Mickey said...

Old shoes suck. But just think of all those barefooted Kenyans eating up the miles.

Yeah, I hate them too.

survivingmyself said...

there's nothing worse than not getting a package when you're expecting one.

it makes me cry inside.

okay, and outside too.

Mir said...

At least it wasn't FedEx. FedEx would've lost your shoes for two or three days in some location not geographically related to where you live, then when they manage to get it to the right local facility, they would've "delivery exceptioned" them for a few more days before finally figuring out how to read well enough to figure out your address.

Heidi said...

the worst is DHL. Not only did they not deliver my shoes but when they did the boots didn't fit. Thats probably more my fault than their's but if we're going to talk shitty delivery services then might as well. i mean come on i'm a size 6.5...there is no reason that those boots should not have fit.

sorry i'm still bitter. UPS/DHL/Fed ex can all go suck it.

Kaeti said...

I think you should throw down next time you see him at the Y.

Moxie said...

Brown lets me drop the kids off at the pool.

My dog ate cat shit the other day. Then he puked in my room. He shatpuked.

happy hump day, my lovely.

J-Money said...

birdwatching: I owe you a vanilla latte. It will not be sent via UPS.

shelly: Nope, I've gotten less work than a hooker in a wheelchair. Sigh. But thank you for the nice words.

mickey: Other cultures are stupid. And by "stupid", I mean "better than me". Sigh.

surviving: Thanks for making me feel better about my tearstorms.

mir & heidi: Thank you for making me now fear every package delivery trucks. Bring back the pigeons. Giant, goggle wearing pigeons.

kaeti: Now THAT is an idea...

Texas Gal said...

I've had to sometimes have packages delivered to not my own name to get them delivered. The previous tenant's last name is sharpied on the mailbox (classy!), so sometimes the UPS guy gets pissy and won't make a delivery because the last name on the package doesn't match the sharpied name.

chia said...

UPS lost my Christmas presents last year. I'll never get over that one :-(.

You so crack me up :)

SA said...

That is my new favorite picture.

UPS and FedEx can go crawl into a hole and die. They never deliver packages when they're suppose to. I ordered a planner for this year the first week of last December and I didn't get it until January. Of course this is when the company I bought it from sent a second one out because they thought it was their fault. Needless to say, I got both of them the same day. Fucking fuckers.

Hollywood Sucker said...

Because it's getting boring to keep telling you how much I love your posts, I've decided to just quote back to you my favorite line from each one.

"On the one hand, it wouldn't show gravy stains. On the other, it makes you look like a pinecone."

TheStarterWife said...

I trying to not to laugh too hard, because our UPS guy is DOWN THE HALL FROM MY OFFICE AS I SPEAK and I want to see my package from BareEssentials.com sometime in this millenia.

They know when you are talking about them.

J-Money said...

moxie: Your dog cannot lick me on the mouth either.

texy: I'm starting to think that being pissy is one of their job requirements.

chia: If Santa can pull off Christmas, big brown sure as hell should be able to.

SA: I give you several grown-up points for ordering (and presumably using) a planner.

hollywood: But you're never boring!

TSW: If your package is in the building, you have a chance...

dmbmeg said...

Will you photoshop my life?

Dexter Colt said...

UPS is always robbing me of that joy of receiving my internet-driven impulse-purchases.

I had to take a day off work to receive my ukulele?! After the driver ignored my note on the door to "LEAVE THE PACKAGE IN FRONT OF MY APARTMENT DOOR...OR WITH ANY OF MY NEIGHBORS" they threatened me with a FINAL delivery attempt notice.


hairyweisenheimmer said...

Oh , don't even get me started on UPS!
Years ago I sent a package to my mom for Christmas. It never arrived. UPS insisted that it had been, and had been signed for. In February she recieved a call from the local police department. Suspicious of some of the gifts her "charming" teenager had given her, she grilled him about them and he eventually coughed up to the true origins of the packages.
Upon delivery, the UPS driver had forged my mothers signature, dumped the box on the front porch and the brat had stolen it. As it conatined some original artwork, signed by me, the mother called the police and with the little effers information of where he picked it up, they were able to track down the intended recipient.
UPS steadfastly denied any wrong doing,refused to take responsibility for the actions of their employee, and refused to compensate me for the shipping costs.
UPS can blow me.

AidsHasYetToFindMe said...

Just found your blog through Jebus. I really like your stuff, in particular this article. There is a UPS driver that takes a nap is my store parking lot a couple times a week. I've thought about getting him towed many times for loitering, just because it would be hilarious to watch everything unfold.