The woman ahead of me had four package claim tickets. The one behind had two children on the verge of tantrum. My own patience was wearing thin and, while a juice box and a nap could have helped the little ones, I was more prone to punch my mail carrier in the face.
Thanks to UPS and an evil professor, I was suffering through the painful experience of book-buying for the second time this semester. I know for many of you I am opening up old wounds, but mine was recently ripped open by a professor who assigned a book that wasn't published yet. So months after everyone else's wallets were recovering from bookstore shock, I was dishing out $40 to get a book straight from the publisher.
Sure, ordering online was easy, and $40 really wasn't that bad, but delivery meant dealing with the infamous UPS.
I had had bad experiences with UPS a few times now. They continually deliver packages to my apartment that aren't for me and try to charge me for returning them, refuse to deliver my packages on time and almost hit me with their giant brown trucks of death. Ok, so almost getting hit was a one time thing, but it epitomizes the mutual hatred between the company and me.
And this time was not destined to be any easier. I came home the first day to see that little sticker plastered to my mailbox. They couldn't deliver because I wasn't there to sign. Fair enough, I thought. I signed the sticker and left it stuck to my mailbox.
The next day I came home to find my package had still not been delivered. This time the sticker was stuck to my door, the one on my mailbox had been completely passed over. I was irritated, but I thought I could beat them at their own game. I signed both slips, and left a big sign on the door asking them to leave the package.
In true UPS style, they bypassed all my pleas for delivery and on the third day I received the angry notice saying I was going to have to come to them for the package. I have received a lot of these angry notices in my day, seeing as UPS can always manage to show up while I'm in the middle of a class, while I'm in the shower or just as I am returning home, only to chase them down the street trying to wave them down. My efforts are always in vain.
Now the battle was moving to their territory. I had to drive out to their shipping facility, and when I arrived, I knew I was doomed. The parking lot was packed, and the line was out the door. As I took my place it began to rain. I decided this was also somehow UPS's fault.
Twenty minutes later I was at least inside the doors. There was one woman searching for everyone's package and she wasn't exactly in a hurry. It was taking close to ten minutes a person, and there were ten people ahead of me.
The time in line did give me the chance to admire the artwork in the waiting room. Each wall was adorned with happy workers, happy customers and, my favorite, the things you can't mail list. Sadly, it seems the gasoline-drenched puppies and polonium 210 care package I was going to send my family cannot be shipped via UPS.
Finally, almost an hour after my arrival, I was next in line. Things were getting dangerous. As the worker plodded around the backroom, a bell rang. She came back out and closed her window.
Rage as I have never known swept over me. I pounded and pounded until she opened up. ""Sorry,"" she said. ""We're closing.""
Oh like hell you are.
I jumped the counter. The worker was too slow to stop me, and my high school track skills saved the day. I found the package, threw my claim ticket at her and bailed.
I was celebrating my victory on the way out to the car, and inspected my package further. The book was there, but there was a small envelope stuck to it as well. Inside was the memo telling me all of the columnists were going to write about Facebook last week.
Damn you UPS!
If you are like Megan and hate UPS with a fiery, burning passion, e-mail her at mcorbett2@wisc.edu.
