I am really good and pissed off right now, and I figured that I might get at least a little sympathy from folks lurking around the Catacombs.
The really nice page of comic book artwork (above; top) that accompanies this rant is by Paul Pelletier and Rick Magyar. It's page #17 from issue #74 of the Marvel Comics series, Exiles. I bought this piece of original art from an Atlanta, GA, dealer last week and it was handily delivered to my local postal address yesterday.
So, why am I pissed?
Well, it seems that the geniuses at my post office branch forwarded it elsewhere, namely the state capital of South Carolina. Don't ask me why they did this. The package had my actual address correctly marked, and I received emailed tracking info that not only had it shipped, but also that it had safely arrived at the intended destination. The only thing that didn't happen, was I didn't receive it. Columbia got it!
I did recently open a new post office box, but I fail to understand why I was hazed by Uncle Sam's mail carriers. I don't recall having ever done anything to them. I keep my dog on a leash. I haven't mailed anyone dusting's of white powder. Yet, here I am without my artwork, and being forced into playing a waiting game to see if it rebounds back to the local branch from Columbia or if it makes its merry way back to Atlanta.
Profanity doesn't help much either. I hurled every expletive known to man at the cluster of semi-chastened souls who couldn't produce my package. They barely budged, and one withered hag at the back even chuckled at my outburst!
The one thing that helps ease the pain is that the dealer himself is quite personable and completely aware of the problem. Thankfully, he gets tracking info also. He just doesn't have to interact with the [insert your own denigration] at my post office.
And they wonder why the U.S. Postal Service has a problem competing against UPS and/or FedEx.