Vice has been running a hilarious (and sobering) column for years now called London Rental Opportunity of the Week, which I stumbled on a few days ago; the author is hanging up his shingle and wrote a kiss-off to all landlords everywhere.
Oh, MAN do I wish I could name names and warn you people away from the vendors I’ve been attempting to use for my Christmas shopping. But that would give away the surprise(s), unfortunately. As of right now, I have one gift with a working tracking number that only tells me it “left” the point of origin. I have another tracking number that I had to call the vendor to get, which tells me pretty much the same thing; I’m under the assumption it’s a dummy package and a standard tracking number everybody gets when the vendor has no idea where the packages are (or haven’t actually shipped them yet.) I have a third which may or may not show up on my doorstep before we leave. And finally, I have Golfsmith.com, who originally told me my item was in stock on the 8th, took my credit card, and then dropped the ball until I called, chased down the item and found out that it was discontinued. So that order is cancelled.
I’m toying with the idea of taking some coal from our cellar and mailing it out to each of these vendors as a token of appreciation.
I know how you feel.
Fuck Amazon. Fuck UPS. Big “thank you” for the guys on eBay who’ve been getting their stuff out the door to me quickly … via the Postal Service, surprisingly.
My Post Man is getting a tip this holiday season.
I can’t get down on the delivery guys. My beef is with the actual sellers, who can’t seem to get their shit straight, or at least tell me if they actually have something they can sell me.
Just because your package can now be “tracked” that doesn’t necessarily mean by a state-of-the-art integrated sattelite system. Sometimes it seems it’s left to a third-string Sherpa with vertigo. Me? I’m going the in-person route with most of my gifting. Cash-in-hand, baby. Cha-ching!