You are currently browsing the daily archive for October 16th, 2007.
thief |θēf| noun ( pl. thieves |θēvz|) a person who steals another person’s property, esp. by stealth and without using force or violence. ORIGIN Old English thīof, thēof, of Germanic origin; related to Dutch dief and German Dieb, also to theft .
Did you know that the company Fed Ex actually specializes in bending their customers over the counter and anally penetrating them over and over again until their cry? Yes, it’s in fact the truth and I have had the pleasure of receiving such express service in the past week. Because I own so much shit (and how have I accumulated so much shit, might I ask? Seriously, everything I owned after the house fire with my father just 11 years ago fit in a medium sized Honda Acccord. Now everything I own fits in 1 overstuffed Smart Box in Richmond, a tin box called storage in the Outer Banks, about 11 boxes in my aunt’s basement, a couple more boxes at my parents house, half of the back of Andy’s Subaru station wagon, and 2 extra large suitcases each weighing over 70 pounds that I had to pay extra for at the airport.) 3 boxes had to be shipped via Fed Ex. Not much in the boxes: some clothes, shoes and office supplies. Take a guess how much that cost me. $100? That is a great guess, but no. $200? Still would be better than what I paid. Yes folks, that’s right! You too can get up the ass for a mere $314.72. But wait, that is not where it gets good. I was supposed to receive my boxes yesterday but they did not arrive and no little “it’s at our office” note was left on our oversized door wooden door. So I decided to head over to the PV cafe, our current internet headquarter where they know us by the beer we drink, and use the tracking number to locate my boxes.
” Hmmmmmmmmm, that’s funny,” I thought to myself staring at the computer screen. “This says that my boxes were in Guatalajara and have been sent back to Richmond, Va.”
Andy shot me the, “Oh shit, please don’t freak out in the middle of this crowded internet cafe” look. I could see him referencing his internal index of WHAT AND WHAT NOT TO SAY TO KEEP YOUR WOMAN CALM.
“It’s okay,” he said doing his best to keep my voice low. “Let’s just figggre this out. You cancall (meant to be read as one word) thum right noooow.”
We had been at the local musicians locale where Andy showcased his skills at a Latin Jam. He played good and hard. So hard in fact he ripped the skin off his two right fingers leaving blood on the wood and skin hanging off the grooves of the strings. Apparently borrowing a cheap bass can damage his magic hands. He drank to celebrate the impression he made and dull the sting. By the time my eyes had fixated on the words RETURNED TO SENDER, I had no patience for slurred speech.
After snapping at Andy, retracting the snapping at Andy and ordering a Negro Modelo I spoke to a customer service representative. I spoke to someone, who told me there was nothing that could be done, I immediately requested a supervisior. (Thank you Mormor for teaching me persistance.) Long story short, the people at customs need a copy of my papers. The Fed Ex guy in RIC should’ve told me that. He didn’t. I’m fucked. They are working on getting that fixed.
