Are You Worthy?

As human beings all of us have a breaking point. This the magical line
where civility ends and behaving like a stark raving lunatic begins.
As we age and gain some measure of self control sometimes the crossing
of this line becomes a conscious, and sometimes necessary, decision. As any
corporate middle manager or toddler will tell you, when all else
fails, anger usually gets results. I reached my boiling point this morning
while on the phone for the fifth time with the customer service department
of a certain international shipping company whose name consists of
five letters.

I recently ordered a laptop computer from a well-known online retailer
and took advantage of their free shipping offer. I was very excited to
get it since my home PC is five years old and due to the insane pace
of today's technological advancement it may as well be an abacus. The
shipper attempted delivery on the first day and I wasn't home so they
didn't deliver it. Since I live in a secure building I called their
customer service to arrange them to leave the package with the apartment
manager. This was the first encounter in what proved to be a long
and terribly arduous relationship.

The second attempt was made the following day. I eagerly connected to
the internet to track the package and it was listed as being on the
for delivery! But alas, it was not to be. For this day, the driver totally ignored
my instructions to leave the package with the apartment manager. He
nonchalantly informed me on my voicemail that I wasn't home so he
couldn't leave the package. Again I called customer service reiterate
my instructions to leave the package with the manager. The
customer service agent apologized profusely and assured me that the
package would arrive the following day. With my faith already shaken
and sensing trouble, I asked if there was anywhere I could just go and
pick it up. I was told that there was no location for customer pick-up
of "home delivery" in my city.

Day three. I got up and logged onto the net right away, tracked the package
and it was on the truck for delivery! Upon my return home from work there was
no package. I called Merle, my personal customer service assistant, to discover that
the home deliveries are contracted out to independent carriers and if a driver
doesn't finish his route in one day it will be delivered the next day. I was
also informed that after the 4th attempt the package will be sent back to
the shipper. At this point I was convinced that the right hand had no clue
what the left hand was doing and I could the aforementioned "magical line"
where civility begins to blur. But, I was beginning to learn their jargon.
I effortlessly dropped phrases, "Tracking ID" and "Terminal Control Number" and they
seemed to be slightly impressed that I was attempting to speak their language
and a little more cooperative.

Day Four. Friends and co-workers begin to smirk and ask me if I've,
"tracked the package" recently and by then it was safe to say that I was
tracking it at least 3 times a day. I made it a point to call Merle
to check the status. This was a weekend so I was told to stay home between 11
and 3 and it would definitely be delivered. Since I had the whole day off
and I didn't want to spend half a Saturday waiting for the delivery I again
asked if there was a pickup spot and was told, "Not for Home Delivery, sir.".
I waited the allotted time to no avail. This time they didn't even call.

Day five. At this point I truly didn't care anymore but I tracked the package
merely because it had become habit to do so. The results of the tracking stated that the
package "was being held a local warehouse for customer pickup". This sparked a complex
mixture of ecstasy and anger. I took a deep breath and called Merle, hopeful to put some
closure on this whole experience. Merle said, "I'm sorry Sir but the warehouse
isn't open for pickups on Monday. They don't post their hours until tomorrow, please
call back then." It was almost as though a switch was flipped in my brain
and I became a raging lunatic. I ripped Merle a new one. The line was quiet for a
few moments. I sensed a newfound respect in Merle's tone, "One moment. Sir, the hours
for pickup are between 10:00 and 4:00." I sarcastically asked if I needed to know
a secret handshake or a special knock to gain entry into the warehouse." Merle replied
with a monotone, "no". Finally, I had proven myself worthy to receive my package!
All it took was a great deal of patience, learning practically a new language
and a healthy dose of primal rage.