The Great Gift Card Hunt

Surely I can't be the only one, can I?

It started at the Christmas party, getting a gift card for a garden center. (Yayyyy, somebody knows me!) After folks left and I was cleaning up, I wondered where it had gone in the chaos. At least this time it only took 20 minutes to rescue it from a stack of crumpled wrapping paper, tape, candy wrappers, etc. It was a narrow escape, so I made sure to put it in a safe place.

Do you have "safe places" like mine? I'm not so sure about crooks being able to find them, but I know they always tend to be safe... from me! About a month later I remembered the card. It's not that I was ready to use it yet. I had mentally designated it for the outside garden beds, and with the ground frozen for winter, it wouldn't be called on until, say, April. Like today! That place I stashed the gift card a month earlier turned out to be a collection depot for stray pens, paper clips, remotes, papers, writing pads that accumulate from mail where people are trying to sell me something, so whenever I scratch notes or a shopping list on one of them I am supposed to be reminded of the company and do business with them.

Sure, like that ever works! If they did the kind of business I needed to patronize, they'd already have me as a customer and no reminder would be necessary. Those people don't need to mail me writing pads. The pads I do get are collected in a single spot, and are used to make notes from phone calls on, write down my work schedule, or start/finish a grocery list or similar shopping reminders. Sometime in late January I ran across the card again among the writing pads and decided that was a stupid place to have put it. So I put it in a safe place, one I was sure I'd look for it in when I was ready to go to that garden center. Steve even watched me do it.

Remember that: Steve watched me do it.

As you must have noted from my previous post, the ground is thawing, the first bulbs are blossoming, things are greening up. As a side "benefit" the squirrels have reminded me of the damage they did to my plantings last fall, defeating every single thing I tried to keep them from eating my bulbs. How did they do it? By digging out some more of them now, of course! It was time to go to the garden center for replacement, though this time the bulbs will be started indoors, and only planted back in their designated locations once any remaining ones which got missed are up and growing so I can tell where replacements are needed.

Today was supposed to be nice, according to forecasts. But yesterday I called the garden center to see if they still carried lily bulbs, since they are typically planted in fall. Yes! They had lots of varieties! Better yet, there was a sale on them, mainly to clear them out and give the store more room for summer planting stock.

It was time to dig out my gift card from its safe place. Yep, time to find that safe place. I went through my pocketbook, since it was logical I'd have put that card with all my other cards needed for shopping, right? Except it wasn't there!

OK, how about the other side of my pocketbook? I have lots of cards there too, mainly the ones relating to my health. You know, insurance cards. Pacemaker identification cards with referral phone numbers. Appointments cards for future doctor visits. Some photos like my granddaughter when she was a kid instead of a grown mom herself. Other stuff nobody else needs to know about. Even some actual cash money! Not a lot since I mostly prefer plastic. And no coins at the moment since I've been spending them at the library to get copies printed out of the bazillion tax forms I need to finish figuring our filing status and how much we either pay or get refunded. Selling a house makes that extra complicated, but hey, ask me about capital gains now, eh? At any rate, I just got the latest forms I need to fill out in order to find out whether I need to fill them out - because I'm doing it myself and the state forms' instructions simply aren't online, except when they contradict each other and require a 50-minute hold on the phone. I offered to give the library folding green instead, but got waved away from that with their comment that my being three cents short in my pile of coins for the day's copies was not an issue.

This is the long way of describing the challenge of finding a gift card in the most logical place I might have placed it. Obviously I didn't find it there. Now the house search began. Had I misremembered taking it out of the spot where the writing pads had accumulated? Check again. Nope. It was gone.

I have some cutesy places in my room where I've been known to tuck things. No, I'm not telling you what those are! But the card wasn't in those either. I checked three times, twice yesterday and once this morning. You know, the way one does when frustration makes you doubt your own brain. Did I really check all of them? Might I have been stupid enough to ........  Never mind, I hadn't, at least not this time. There was a high location I didn't bother to check because of how it hurts my shoulder to lift something down, check inside, and replace it up high, and I'm not telling you what that is either, despite it being completely empty ever since it was unpacked months ago and is likely to remain so forever. I could change my mind, you know, and actually use it again because arthritic shoulders cure themselves, and mine might when I once again become as young as I was last time I used that location. We believe in silly miracles, don't we? Anyway, I didn't bother to check that place three separate times because each time I had the thought I dismissed it. Once I almost got my hand that high, but it hurt so I stopped. I filed the information away with a reminder that I hadn't actually checked that spot but wasn't desperate enough yet to try. There simply had to be better options left.

While having breakfast this morning Steve commented that he thought he'd seen me put the card in my pocketbook back when, just the way I thought I'd remembered, but where I couldn't find it. Had I checked absolutely EVERYWHERE? OK, time to go pocket by pocket, pull everything out before putting it back just to be absolutely sure. It turns out there were places I'd missed looking. One had store coupons over a year old from where we used to shop in Arizona. Badly expired, of course. Toss. There was a card for a free tow from a car insurance company I haven't used for several years. Toss. An old shopping list I'd saved because I couldn't find one thing on it at the time. Toss. I went front to back through every cranny and nook in the thing, did a thorough cleaning, and still didn't find the card. Oh well, I could spend cash at the store, right?  I put my pocketbook away where I could grab it before I left.

Then... wait! I picked it up again and checked the one spot I just skipped because I knew I had just totally emptied it out the day before in the library, the coin pouch. I'd turned the thing upside down to shake out every last coin! Apparently the gift card in its little paper folder had enough friction to stick in its corner and not drop out along with the change!

OK, I was ready to head out to the garden center. I filled the tank on the way since it was almost a 100 mile round trip, made a phone call trying to see if somebody was open to a visit (but who wasn't answering), and mentally reviewed the map of its location that I reviewed the night before, since it had been a dozen years since I'd been to that one. Once there I had a great time picking out bulbs, and even a small oddball begonia for inside the house. 

When I was checking out, I was informed yes, the sale was still on, but no, their computer system was down so I couldn't use my gift card today.

Sighhhhhh......

It's OK. I can go back another time. They've got really cool stuff!

First Signs Of Spring... Here

Spring has been indecisive this year. We get warm weather, then snow, then melt, then rain and snow, then melt, then snow..... 

It's confusing, and not just for people. Plants can't decide whether to stay submerged, or start to poke out. Squirrels are supposed to be relying on spring buds and blossoms as well as their remaining stores from fall, and instead are returning to digging up last years bulbs which should have stopped being bulbs by now, and instead have stopped being in the ground at all. New holes are appearing where protective cover has had to be removed because earlier blooming plants already need to be up. Last week a daffodil got dug up and promptly dropped because it took until it was out of the ground for the offending squirrel to realize it wasn't food they like. Unfortunately, since then it located several more of the summer blooming lilies it was feasting on last fall which it managed to miss back then. 

It didn't miss them this week. But now I miss them, especially after how expensive they were. Luckily I did pop into a big box store's garden department and locate some replacement bulbs at a much lower price for many of the same varieties. I plan to start them indoors next month so they are established plants at the beginning of summer, when I can see what if anything actually survived the squirrels, and plant the leafed out new ones in (some of) the holes. I may just go around to other stores to look for other varieties to safely pre-sprout indoors. There is that gift card from Christmas for a fancy garden center.....

The snow from two days ago has finished melting. Green tips are emerging. Some are obviously iris and others daylily leaves, but tiny ones hold the promise of scilla and crocus. I gave the garden beds a peek when I took some garbage out this morning.

The first thing I spotted was a bit of blue. Scillas! Still folded into buds, blooms should open in the next day or two. A few steps further to another bed...

...and the first fully open bloom showed a yellow crocus, close to the path where people walk between building to get to the new postal boxes in the community center/ storm shelter. It got finished last fall, so we no longer have to choose between a bunch of stairs or a 3 mile drive to a storm shelter without stairs when we need one. This one is two hundred feet away, tops

After clearing old dead leaves away which were covering last year's rhubarb bed, patches of green and orange-red emerged. I predict we will have some good picking this year despite offering some family members the opportunity to dig out some of their own plants. Last year we moved in after they had become unmanageable, bolted and gone to seen in a patch of tall seed clumps on hollow wood stalks, far from edible for the rest of the summer. There are plenty left now, for those interested.... Just get in line.

So How Do Penguins Pay Tarriffs?

The Idiot in Chief just released his tariff schedule for the rest of the world. I say "Idiot" not just from ire, or political disagreement that prompts insults. Sure, those are part of it. But I say it because he just so plainly proved it.

There were a lot of small "countries" who were charged 10% tariffs on whatever they might try to export to us. Of course there was just this tiny, silly, little hitch in his tariff giddyup: many of those named simply don't have populations. Not of humans anyway. They are mostly small southern hemisphere islands. Some are volcanoes with glaciers, or still active volcanoes. Some look like sandy atolls from aerial views. There might be patches of green. Or not.

Some actually are inhabited. With penguins. Maybe a few seals too, or at least during breeding season. I can't say how year-round those populations are in residence, mostly because I've never heard of these places before. Woefully poor attention span in school geography class, I expect. Yeah, that's it. Poor attention. Mea culpa.

I fully anticipate that you, like me, have difficulty imagining penguins and seals finding anything to export off their islands, much less have heard of us or even "have a concept of" exporting something here. No doubt those tariffs would stop them right in their... uh, flippers? webbed claws? long before they'd dream of cheating our economy by not paying tariffs, eh?

Some names look suspiciously like something out of the renowned "Onion". Or maybe somebody handed the Idiot In Chief a list on April 1st because it was his day. Not that he'd ever check them out personally, of course. There's a pair  of islands well off Australia, for example, named Heard and McDonalds. I gleefully imagine  he just churned those in his brain until it seemed reasonable that indeed, yes he had "Heard of McDonalds" and they sounded like they could bring in a whole lot of money from their imports. (Of what? Penguin Burgers?) I also strongly doubt our Idiot, like many stupid people, would admit to unfamiliarity with them, and as a result simply added them to his list. I mean, who would dare mock him this way?

Now the question is begged as to whether his staff is protecting him from awareness of how stupid his tariff list is, and what a laughingstock he is for yet another reason added to all the other reasons, both domestically and internationally. No, he'll just revel in his assumed brilliance and go on to the next way to destroy what's great in this country - or was.

But if he finds out, I'd keep my ears tuned for some staff firings in the West Wing. Maybe a run on ketchup bottles too once he throws his remaining supply on the walls. As he does.

Congratulations Senator Cory Booker!

For a record breaking 25 hours and 4 minutes, Senator Booker filibustered the US Senate with a speech designed to "cause good trouble". He not only beat the previous filibuster length record, by Strom Thurmond,  a racist determined to stop civil rights in this country, he did so under much more grueling conditions. He was not allowed a bathroom break, unlike Thurmond. He was not allowed to sit down, again unlike Thurmond, and while he was allowed to take questions so he could rest his voice for a few minutes, he was still required to stay where he was.

For those of you hiding under a cabbage leaf, or something else keeping you from noticing what's happening in this country, Booker took this action to help stop the destruction, by our nominal President and his unelected pet attack dog Musk, of everything good about this country, starting with our constitution and branching out into healthcare, Alzheimer's research, veteran's jobs, healthcare, social security, Medicaid, our ability to fight measles, or TB, or even to educate our children, and totally destroy the rule of law. I could go on as the list is seemingly endless, but Booker's 25 hours plus did a pretty good job of covering it. Unlike previous filibusters, Booker didn't do silly things like read from a huge phone book (do we still even have those?) just to continue making noise. He made his time count!

As an American, I am proud of Senator Booker. I wish others in Congress had the courage do do something similar. I hope more have the courage to make their votes count toward saving our Democracy.

And I hope a lot more of us have the ounce of courage it takes to join the many demonstrations scheduled for this Saturday all around the country, making our voices heard loud and long, signs held high announcing our beliefs, our fears of what tRump/Musk are doing to this country, antagonizing our allies, kowtowing to Putin's wishes, isolating us from the world. We don't have to stand for 25+ hours. We can let our signs talk for us so our voices hold out. We can bring chairs and sit, bring food and beverages to drink, blankets and heavy coats to keep us warm. We can take bathroom breaks. We can chat with friends we carpooled with, or meet new ones.

Most of all we can show up and be counted!

And once we're back home we can call our congress people and let them know what we think as well, even if they're too chicken to come to a town hall, explain their actions, or answer our questions. Let them know we see them!!!

And keep calling.

Murphy Is Alive And Well After Hibernation

 You all remember Murphy, don't you? He's that infamous lawmaker, decreeing whatever can go wrong, will, and in the worst ways possible.  I met him yesterday. I would have written about him then, but, well, I was kinda busy and in pain.

The plan had been to go to work, just in the afternoon instead of early morning. After a rainy/snowy weekend, I figured I needed a bit of a thaw to be able to open iced car doors so I could get scrapers out to clear off windows, and if necessary, splash window antifreeze on stubborn ice rather than antagonize my shoulders by scraping them. Everything I needed to do that was inside the car I needed to be able to open. Because of course. Late morning I looked out and saw snow had slid down the hood and parts of the windows. It was time.

It started with sweeping off the porch steps to avoid falls, especially if Steve had to use them. Not that he was planning on coming out for anything. The sidewalk and much of the parking pad had cleared from morning sun, while the grass still had enough fresh snow remaining for clear mouse tracks to lead the way to the garbage cans when I took bags of trash out that had stacked up over the weekend.

Then I approached the car, keys in hand, to unlock the doors. No ice left!  The windshield snowpack released the wiper blades easily, so I let them stand up while I shoved snow away by hand. More needed to be done, but I wanted to go once around the car before returning with the broom to clear the top, using the best combination of hand and tools to do the job comfortably.

There was still a large deposit of snow on the rear hatch door window, it being the north side of the car, with that wiper blade holding it securely in place. After lifting that and clearing loose ice from it and pushing snow down, I stepped over to continue my  preliminary circle and suddenly found myself on the ground, painfully so, landing mostly on my left hip. I considered myself very lucky I hadn't hit my head on the way down, falling so fast with no time to react. 

It seems there was a single small piece of very slick, wet ice behind the car, formed by drips, disguised under water running off toward the street and a bit of freshly knocked off snow. I tried to roll off it but my hip disabused me of any desirability in pursuing that particular activity. OK, time to call Steve...

I immediately discovered I hadn't bothered to put my phone in my pocket. I was only going to be outside for a few minutes, right?

It was just the day before when Steve and I were laughing at how we grew up without the neurotic fear of going anywhere without that phone. Phones stayed in the house, attached to walls. How the world had changed! We take them into the store so we can talk to each other and/or find each other to discuss shopping from different locations. They are in the car with us in case we needed something, or somebody wanted to contact us, or even to announce to the store we had arrived and could they please bring out our groceries? Yet, because I was only going to be out a few minutes, here I'd left mine in the house. Where Steve was. Where help was, if I could just get his attention so he could make a phone call for me.  IF I could just get his attention... by calling him... on the phone I didn't have... and could have bypassed him with entirely by making my own call from my spot on the ground.

Thanks Murphy!

OK, so you're wondering why I just didn't get up off the ground? Even though the hip hurt - still hurts - nothing seemed broken. Just slide off the ice and get up? Seems simple enough, except, like Steve, these days when either of us goes down, we pretty much have to stay down. First hurdle is our knees. All four have been replaced, meaning we no longer have kneecaps, and kneeling is exquisitely painful, even on soft cushy surfaces or in gel kneepads. I bought a pair of those a couple years back. They are a great help to those who don't need them. Kneeling is to be avoided whenever possible. Age has robbed us of muscle mass. Steve's back barely allows him to move at all, and my shoulders, after years of repeated rotator cuff injuries followed by arthritis, don't do much of anything useful including lifting a cup of water up inside the microwave over the stove. I can manage but not happily, and always with at least some winces. It's maybe a pound and a half to lift, cup plus water, no problem as long as it's under shoulder level. So where to people build in their microwaves? Riiiiiight.

My first option was to check who along the street is out and about. It's a senior community here but anybody would have a phone, either with them or back in their house. It was just that time of day - and year - where the ones who weren't snowbirds were out somewhere, or maybe inside with the TV on or even napping. At any rate, nobody was out walking or even shaking a rug off their porch. Scratch that for help.

I still had some option for movement. I was sitting on wet ice, so the first thing was to sit elsewhere. I learned to butt-walk as a kid and could still do that - probably a good indication that the hip I landed on was not broken, only bruised. As it got colder from still frozen ground, it was harder to tell its actual condition, but butt-walking was possible.  15 feet away was the little porch. I'd shoot for that. Maybe I could get myself up a step or two so I could manage to stand from there. Ten minutes later, including a few pauses and after figuring out how to turn myself around so I could sit on the steps, I discovered I'd put myself down in a hole. My shoulders wouldn't lift myself up and out by themselves, and the pavement was covered in formerly invisible sand, just enough to forbid any traction from my supposedly high-traction shoes. I already had given up on being able again to wear the new knit slacks I had on, thinking them likely full of snags and holes, though much later close inspection impressed me with their sturdiness. Final decision awaits laundry results.

Time for plans B, C, and D.

There was a bed of rocks next to the porch. With metal siding, maybe I could make enough noise that Steve could hear... if he was in this end of the house and the TV volume was down. I started hitting the siding, first in single loud taps, then in threes, then in S-O-S. He's a former military guy after all, right? Of course there's usually some kind of outside noise around, somebody roofing or building a shed or making a repair or who knows what all. We're used to it. We pretty much ignore it, at least as far as going to look out the window to see what's happening. No results to my tapping. Steve might even have gone to take a nap and be in the wrong part of the house.

Plan C was to take my keys and use them to make the car horn beep. You hit the lock, then hit it a second time and it beeps to let you know you did... or where your car is in the parking lot or whatever. I found if I hit it 4 times in a row, the last three beeped. I did that for a while. Nobody noticed. Or nobody around here knows that three somethings is a distress signal. Lost and need to be seen from the air? Lay out three visible equal things spaced side by side - driftwood for example along a shore. Big sticks or bright clothing in an open field.  It's not natural so it stands out. I guess don't count on deaf neighbors to hear car horns though.

Plan D was wait for SOMEBODY to come by. Eventually they would, either driving, or walking on their way to get their mail. The only question was when? Mail probably wasn't due for another hour. I'd already been down half an hour.

By now my butt was really cold. The rest of me had sun, but it soon would be blocked by the house. 

I finally heard an approaching engine. I could stick my arms out past the stair railing and wave them to draw attention. As it turned out, it was the FedEx driver, and he was delivering a box to our house a day early! Take that, Murphy!!!! He called 911 for this "elderly lady", and within 5 minutes there were two squad cars and an ambulance here. Of course everybody waited for the paramedics to lift me up to a stand, and only after a consult with me to understand why I couldn't get up and whether lifting me might, say, further injure a broken hip. Once they heard I'd butt-walked my way over from the car, broken hip concerns vanished, though we all realized things might change once I was standing, putting weight on it. Leaving me on the ground rather than yanking my shoulders was also common sense as well as a kindness, and the paramedics wound a sheet around me under the shoulders to put the strain on the torso instead. After sitting so long and being so cold, my first steps were a bit wobbly, but they supported me to the car to sit down while lots of questions were asked and vitals taken. Yep, my blood pressure was way up after all that, but eventually they let me go.

The cops left, after one of them taking the broom I had outside, pushing the remaining snow off my car, and spreading the salt, which I'd stupidly left up on the porch, over the ice patch hidden behind the car. Every person who approached had wanted to step right there, and I had to keep warning them. A dog-walking neighbor stopped by to check things out, and the paramedics prepared to leave, after having me sign that I declined a ride to the hospital. I told them thanks, but they'd given me something much better than a ride.

They'd given me a lift!

Once back in the house, it turned out Steve had been close to where I'd been stuck. He hadn't heard any of the noise I'd made, and hadn't worried that I hadn't come back in because he'd thought I was heading straight to my job rather than just clearing the car of snow/ice and coming back in. When the ambulance pulled up in front of the window next to him, he just figured some neighbor needed something. It happens around here. The squad cars were out of his line of sight, and no sirens were used, so logically, no real emergency, whoever it was.

I'll be making sure in the future to keep my phone on me, rather than laughing at our paranoia about having them handy at all times.

For the rest of the afternoon and early evening, I dosed with ibuprofin, and huddled  under my double-polar-fleece lap blanket trying to warm up. Sleep was a whole 'nother issue. The sore hip is on the opposite side of me than my worst shoulder is. I'm a side sleeper. There was no comfortable position, both were wrong. Somehow I managed almost 4 hours, despite aggravating the hip in finding out just how unforgivingly hard toilet seats are and how perfectly positioned to hit the bruise.

Murphy may have taken a break for a while, but refused to be ignored for long. This morning even the cushion in my recliner is too hard in all the wrong places. At least walking reassured me that there was no bone problem, but I'm taking a second day off from work since I never made it yesterday. Of course, the weather forecast calls for the same rain/freezing rain/snow combo that started this in the first place. And that's no April Fools!

WTF Kind Of Scam Is This?

 I think the first mistake was him ordering something off an ad on Facebook. It was a special kind of knife he likes, and had owned before, but it "disappeared" from the house before we were packing to move north. (Yeah, we're pretty sure how, who and why. Other things took that same hike at the same time. )

This order was from a company in Italy, and he sent his payment online, something less than $40. I tried not to tell him he should have looked for one through a reliable company, meaning a large firm which had safeguards when something doesn't show up, isn't what's ordered, or arrives dead when alive was specified. (Plants! I'm talking plants! I don't order live animals...... any more!!! Those honeybees were a long time ago, and arrived from Sears just fine. Anyway, that used to be a thing!) The reliability of feedback is a reason I used to spend so much time and money on eBay, because the people on the other end of your transaction give you a rating, and when things go wrong, the world can see it. If they've made 5 transactions and had a 40% approval rating, forget it.

He got a tracking number after a few days, in an email saying it was on its way. Tracking international orders can be interesting, especially when you see how long it takes your package to clear customs, even what port they enter through. You can see what company takes over the delivery job after it clears, what route it takes to get to you, when it's expected to show up so you can be sure to watch for the package. Sometimes you can watch while it goes wildly astray. 

Most shipping companies give detailed information, especially the US Post Office. The number attached to your package is a huge, long one, and for the last ten years or so has always started with a 9. When I'm shipping out packages, say over the holidays, I can send several at one stop at the counter, and find the last numbers increase by perhaps 40 or 50 between quickly handled packages. Every number in the entire system goes through that system, so in the time it takes your clerk to accept the next of your packages, perhaps a full minute, all those other packages have entered the system from over the country. Before you leave you get a receipt strip with full info on every package.  Every address and tracking number will be on it. Once home I can email each recipient, send them the tracking number, and we both can follow it through the system.  Last year one package took a long detour, but we could follow it, hopefully laugh a bit, but know it was where, and hopefully guess when it might finally arrive.

The Italy package's email gave a short tracking number which had no relation to the US postal system numbers. We waited for more info, and waited some more. I was sent outside several times to check both our porches to see if it had somehow magically appeared. It hadn't, of course, or I wouldn't be bothering with this story. What kind of story is "Hey we bought something and it came, no problems"?

Well, besides short, I mean. Really, really short.

After a few weeks, he got an email claiming his package had just been delivered! Out I went. It wasn't there, not on either of our two porches. I checked our locked mail box. Not there either, nor was there a key inside to access the separate large lockers for big packages. It simply wasn't here.

He emailed the company back - no package arrived - could they provide any more info on where it was delivered to? Nope. It was delivered. Period. End of their story. 

We tried their tracking number again. Usually one can simply google the number, needing no further information, and get some kind of reply. It will mean something somewhere on the planet. Parts numbers get the same treatment, so if all you have is a serial number, Google can tell you what it is and have a list of places who sell which replacement parts. Money rules the system. Nope, the number meant nothing.

After checking with the local post office, and giving them time to check with our route delivery worker, the post office had no information, nor ideas of where that kind of a number might mean something. You know, like was it a UPS number? DHL? FedEx? No, no, and no earthly idea. 

At their recommendation he contacted the Italy source again, and oh my goodness, they'd given us a wrong number. (Ya think?) This time there was an actual USPS long number, even starting with the usual 9, along with their assurance it had been delivered. Because, you know, back when they had claimed it had been delivered, it had been. Even though it hadn't.

He called the post office with the new number. They checked on it. Yes, it had been delivered, through them since it was sent within our 5-digit zip code,  so out on one of their trucks. But the name was different and the address about 7 miles north of us, judging from the number of the road given, though they did not give the precise address on that road, way out in the boonies, nor customer name. They were not providing any further information. 

That was fine, since it obviously wasn't our package. We have no intention of heading out to their address and demanding our package from them. It seems like a fast track to an arrest for harassment, best case.

The originating company was contacted again. That's if one can claim to be "originating" if nothing originated from there. They stood firm: They had sent something to our zip code, so obviously it was our package, and while they appreciated our polite patient inquiries to this point, would we please quit annoying them?  (Or something to that effect.)

Steve is resigned to being scammed. He plans to put something to that effect on Facebook for the person or three who will read about the failure to send his package, though likely it won't be anybody who has interest in whatever they advertise there, or needs to be warned away from their version of "business practices." If he does eventually decide to try to order one again, it will be through somebody different, like some seller on eBay or Amazon or at least has a connection they wish to protect to another large company who can do lots of business relying on each other's reputations.

*     *     *     *

But really: Best, most innocent possible case, do people in Italy think a single five-digit zip code refers to a single address? There are who-knows-how-many addresses in our zip code alone, including those for people who use the post office itself for their mail delivery. With the 4 digit tail on the end for just our little mailbox, that's 9 digits, so just under a million possible addresses any single post office delivers to if all the numbers were used. 

They aren't all used, of course. Or at least not yet. The first two digits designate a large area - or smaller if it's geographically compact like in a city. The next three designate post office locations within that area. Being rural, and having the knowledge from memorizing a lot of local zip codes over a lot of years, they are assigned by town names, alphabetically.  Here a particular town "c" falls in -012, an "f" in -025, and "s" towns in the -070s since we have a lot of towns starting with "s" around here. St. Paul divisions all fall after 551, while Minneapolis ones fall after 554. Our Phoenix suburb started with 85, and already after a year I find I have to start chanting the full address to come up with the rest of the zip code. The 4-digit tail refers to only our box, whether standing out along the road, attached to our house, or in a wall of boxes in a building.

Just in case you think those numbers are so confusing, especially if from reading this in another country, that you think the post office would deliver something within a zip code to person 1 at address 1 when it's addressed to person 2 at address 2 miles away, and consider it a valid delivery when they've had a history with each being at widely different addresses and no information to the contrary, well, pardon me for claiming either you are an idiot or you think we are inept idiots who would make/accept such a misdelivery.  ESPECIALLY when a package has a tracking number! 

Not saying we can't be idiots, mind. We just choose different ways.

Eau De Joy(less)

 Short and sweet: De Joy announced he's stepping down immediately. If you don't connect the name, he's the one who's screwed up our postal system for the last several years. He's the reason corner blue mailboxes have disappeared. He's the one who ordered sorting equipment, much more accurate and faster than people, removed and destroyed. The list is longer but I promised short and sweet.

The "eau de joy" was a stench. I don't know if we'll get the service back as we were used to having it, one of, if not the best in the world. Tuump and Elon have their own plans for destruction, their ultimate goal, as with so many things, to privatize it so a huge profit can be made from it.

BUT HIS LEAVING IS A DEFINITE JOY !!!!