As a past editor of the caver, I'd say you got off easy.
Don's iPhone.
On Dec 11, 2009, at 9:57 AM, [email protected] wrote:
My day yesterday began calmly enough.
I woke up from a Benadryl induced haze at around 4 AM and,
mistakenly, thought it was Saturday and, for whatever reason, I
turned off the alarm on my clock radio.
I then proceeded to snooze soundly and woke up 2 hours later but,
unfortunately, 45 minutes past the time I should have gotten up for
work.
After struggling to brush my teeth, take a shower, and drop the kids
off at the pool (not necessarily in that order and definitely not at
the same time), I dashed down the stairs to get my daily caffeine
injection and hit the road.
I was greeted in the kitchen by Buddy, our faux Man's Best Friend,
and all of the calling cards he had left around the kitchen floor.
(He's had digestive issues of late, due to my over-indulgence with
him and giving him people food. I suspect the leftover Thanksgiving
turkey I gave him earlier in the week. Is green stuff on turkey OK
for consumption?).
After cleaning up his disgusting mess and hating my life, I
stumbled out the door.
Ordinarily, I make a ritual of listening to the traffic reports over
a pleasant breakfast. But, being in a rush, having no coffee, and
having to tap dance around Buddy's little friends on the said
linoleum floor, I neglected to pay attention.
While barreling down LBJ and munching on the toast and warmed over
coffee (I also forgot to set up the coffee machine for yesterday
AM!), I ran into a solid traffic jam and, having missed my usual
short cut turn off, sat in traffic for nearly an hour before
reaching my place of employment.
(I love my job, hate the commute, but was most certainly having a
better day than the folks involved in the wreck ahead of me, them
having needed an ambulance, and all).
Finally reaching my desk, I ruminated on my day, thus far, and
heaved a sigh of relief for having gotten here in one piece and
pleased with FINALLY having mailed out the latest issue of The TEXAS
CAVER.
(I love our new printer and the quality work they do, but, speed is
not one of their best attributes. I sent the files to them Nov.
19th, received HALF of the order December 4th and the other half on
the 8th! Thanks USPS!)
Thus begins my rant concerning the USPS and why, I implore you, to
consider receiving your TC electronically...
After a uneventful day of work, including a tortuous three hour
meeting and feeling the life force being sucked out of my body and
wishing I had a pistol, I headed for home and hearth.
This would not be my last pistol-related thought on this day of Our
Lord.
I was greeted at the door by a turd-free Buddy, the digestively
challenged dog, and a lovely pink note from my favorite public
servant, the USPS.
Having finally mailed out the last TC of the year at a price per
newsletter of $3.05, plus $.88 in postage, the lovely Snail Mail
folks wanted an additional $.51 per issue before they could be
mailed out.
Ah, the joy of insufficient postage!
My goal of keeping the TC under $4 per issue was shattered!
I swore at Buddy the Wonder Dog, cursed every government entity in
existence, again questioned my life, grabbed the lil' ol' pink slip,
thankfully left my pistol at home (I didn't feel like doing 20 to
life at Huntsville for a TEXAS CAVER induced incident) and motored
to that 5th level of Hell called "The Post Office Waiting Line at
Christmas".
Thankfully, the line wasn't THAT long and I only had to wait 20
minutes to be told I was in the wrong line and needed to go the
parcel pick up line at the OTHER end of the building.
Heart rate rising, I trudged down to that window, waited five
minutes for the clerk to come to the window. (The half door was
closed and I seriously wondered if anyone was actually behind Door
#2) and she took my slip.
I waited an additional 10 minutes and looked for the Most Wanted
Posters (I always enjoyed looking at these as a kid and, as a
currently hot-headed adult, was trying my best to not see my face
joining them on this day!).
The clerk finally came back and said she couldn't find the 149
newsletters and her manager would look for them unless, of course,
they had already gone out.
At this point, I would like to mention that insufficient postage has
NEVER been an issue with the TC.
I waited another five minutes and her boss came out and said that
they had not gone out (dammit!) and I would have to go back to the
original line, (Do Not Pass Go! and Do Not Collect $200), and pay
for the additional postage there.
Rolling my eyes skyward and reconsidering the wisdom of leaving my
pistol at home, I wandered back to the now considerably longer line,
as you'll recall being affectionately referenced as the 5th level of
Hell called "The Post Office Waiting Line at Christmas".
Having started this odyssey before 4 PM and the clock on this level
of Hades now approaching 5 PM, I finally reached the ESL attendant.
He had the tub of TC's behind him, along with a note that each TC
needed $.51 in additional postage. This puzzled him, for some
reason, and he had to spend the next several minutes conferring with
his ESL manager.
I could feel the daggers being shot from the eyes of the seething
Snail Mail Hell prisoners behind me and knew, without a doubt, that
they were wishing they hadn't left their pistols at home, as well!
Whom they intended to use them on was an object of concern for me.
The clerk finally came back and told me that I would need 3 17 cent
stamps per newsletter and I would have to take them home, apply
them, and bring them back.
With my heart rate now reaching dangerous levels, I calmly stated,
"Hang on, hoss! Y'all are doing this pleasant chore, not me!"
He gave me a look reminiscent of Buddy the Digestively Challenged
Dog and had to confer with his boss, once again. This boss stated
that they probably wouldn't be going out until the next day and I
thought, "No s***, Sherlock! They wouldn't be going out until the
next day if I was doing them, either!"
This completely befuddled the addled clerk and he had trouble
calculating the postage for said TC's.
He asked for the fourth time how many newsletters I had to mail
("149", I calmly stated while trying to restrain myself from
wrapping my hands around his neck) and I explained to him that one
would multiply 149 newsletters X $.51 postage (3X at $.17 per
stamp), thus attaining a grand total of $75.99.
Cheese and Rice Almighty, you would think I was explaining Quantum
Physics to this puzzled Public Servant!
After several gyrations, calculations, and scratching of his head
and my bald one, the light bulb finally went off with my esteemed
attendant.
He counted out 447 17 cent stamps, placed them in the tub with YOUR
TC, along with a note for the Graveyard Shift at your friendly local
USPS querying, "Guess what y'all will be doing in this pleasant
evening 14 days before the Birth of Our Lord?!".
If the TC you do finally receive appears to have been run over
repeatedly by a Brush Hog, you'll know whom to thank.
Choking back an insane smirk and a hysterical giggle, I paid the
bill while secretly dreading having to ask Darla for an additional
check for postage.
I thanked the clerk and lowered my head to avoid any of the bullets
that would soon be flying towards me from the Snail Mail Hell
prisoners that had observed this fiasco.
After messing with the lovely folks at the USPS and attempting to
pull my hair out, I shockingly discovered that I had been shaving my
head for over 8 years and had no hair!
I managed to avoid any Road Rage incidents on the way home and,
having arrived there, proceeded to commemorate this blessed day with
six Wild Turkey and Diet Cokes (one must watch their weight during
the Holiday season), in quick succession, I might add, while Buddy
the Digestively Distressed Dog looked on in disgust with fear and
loathing in his canine eyes.
So, what is the moral of this Dickensian Christmas Carol, you may ask?
My Christmas wish from you is, for the love of whatever Supreme
Being You Believe/Don't Believe In, to become a badge wearing member
of the online digital TSA community!
Go to http://www.cavetexas.org/members/ and sign up and enjoy the
current and back issues!
Please remember to select how you want your TC: mail or digital.
(Please save my last shred of sanity and select the latter!)
There now are a total of 17 issues of the Pulitzer worthy TEXAS
CAVER available for your reading pleasure and this most certainly is
better than any gift you have or will ever receive from one of your
loved ones!
Not a TSA member? No problem!
We still would like for you to contemplate becoming a TSA member.
Send me an email for your complimentary past issue of the TEXAS
CAVER and see what you've been missing.
Visit the TSA website at www.cavetexas.org and become a paid member
and/or become an online member of the TSA.
You can still opt to receive a hard copy TC, but will have to wait a
couple of weeks, at the earliest, to receive your latest newsletter
via snail mail.
The Members Area continues to expand very well and we currently have
grown to 92 members, with 48 opting to receive their TC digitally.
This is a substantial savings to the TSA and has helped us manage to
stay in the black this year and will keep your esteemed editor out
of Huntsville!
I have heard from more than one caver that they thoroughly enjoy
reading their hard copy of the TC, but then proceed to throw it into
the trash.
While being environmentally insensitive (they could at least recycle
by placing it in the bottom of the kitty box or on the bottom of a
human), this makes them the PERFECT candidate for perusing the TC
electronically.
If this describes you, please make a New Years Resolution and
consider becoming an online digital TSA community member!
It'll make you feel better, keep me out of the news/incarceration,
keep my heart rate low, prevent an incident at the USPS, and keep
the pitch fork bearing/torch carrying seething Snail Mail Hell
prisoners from storming my house!
I appreciate you reading this epic tome and hope y'all have a
blessed Christmas, Hanukkah, Solstice, and New Year.
No wonder I enjoy caving. None of the above!
Thanks!
Mark Alman - TSA Chairman and TEXAS CAVER Editor
(with a tongue-in-cheek tip of the helmet to Hunter S. Thompson and
Kinky Friedman)
