Disclaimer: They are not mine, no copyright infringement intended, just written for fun and not profit.
Thanks to Cin for laughing when I first told her about this, and the quick beta on this.
ATF UNIVERSE
It happened again. Chris Larabee cursed once, reached down, and picked up his newspaper from the road. It was wet - again. The plastic bag, designed to keep the paper dry, was not effective when the paper landed in the roadway right below the newspaper box attached to his mailbox post. It rained last night, of course, so he had a soggy paper.
Giving a glare to the newspaper box, standing empty, mocking him with its presence, he stormed back to his house.
Once there, he grabbed the telephone book, found his account number, and called the newspaper office - again.
"Thank you for calling, how may I direct your call?" The woman's voice sounded pleasant, very different from the snarling coffee-less wildebeest holding the telephone.
"DELIVERY."
"Thank you, please hold." Click.
Music started playing, and he hated it. He got a coffee mug out, but found he could not reach the coffeemaker. The cord did not stretch that long. Chris considered putting the phone down and pouring it, and then coming back, but the voice in his ear changed that thought.
It was automated, sounding very impersonal.
"Your call is important to us. Thank you for your patience. Please continue to hold, and your call will be answered in the order it was received."
"Son of a bitch!" Chris roared, not wanting to hear this. He put the telephone down, poured his coffee, downed the first cup, and picked up the receiver. The music played. The phone hit the counter
He poured another cup and picked up the receiver.
That damn automated voice spoke again. "Your call is important to us. Your estimated wait time is: three minutes, ten seconds."
"Thank you so very much." He knew no one could hear him, but he said it to make himself feel better.
Chris fixed himself some cereal, put some bread in the toaster, and found the butter in the refrigerator. Seemed the only place the phone would not reach was the coffeemaker, and Chris planned to fix that once he finished this call. If he ever finished this call.
"Hello, thank you for calling the Delivery Section. This is Yvonne. How may I help you?" This voice sounded nasally and grated on his one nerve, already tight because of the way his morning started.
"You can answer a question for me."
"I'll try, sir. Can I have your account number, please?"
"Sure." Chris read it off to her.
"Okay, Mr. Larabee, what's your question?"
"What's the point of having a newspaper box attached to my mailbox if my delivery person refuses to use it?"
"Excuse me?"
"My delivery person insists on the 'toss it out the window and let's not care where it lands' method of delivering your paper. Now I'm paying for that delivery and I paid for that box. That's where I want my paper delivered."
"Oh dear. I see you've complained about this before."
"Yes."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Larabee, we'll have a talk with the person working your area."
"Good."
"Was your paper wet this morning?"
"Very much so. It was in the road."
"I apologize again, Mr. Larabee. We'll deduct a week's worth off your subscription."
"Thank you."
"Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"No, that's about it."
"Okay, well, thank you for calling, and don't hesitate to call back if there's another problem."
"I will."
"Goodbye."
+++
The paper went in the box for a week.
On day eight, the paper was lying in a snowdrift, soaked through.
He snatched it from the snow, stormed to his house, got the account number, and called again. He went through the transfers until Yvonne answered...again.
When she finished her spiel, he said, "Hello, Yvonne."
"Hello. May I have your account number, please?"
"It's Chris Larabee."
"Oh no."
"Oh yes, Yvonne. It was in a snow bank this time. Again, what's the point of having the box if they refuse to use it?"
"I can't answer that, but we'll talk to the delivery person again."
"Well, Yvonne, that's not good enough. How would you feel if I brought my check to you, wrapped it in plastic, and threw it in your front yard, or up in a snow bank, hanging from a tree, or let it land in a puddle and get soaked? Would you be happy, especially if the ink ran all over the place, it wasn't readable, and I called that a satisfactory delivery?"
"Mr. Larabee, I'm not sure what to tell you. We'll talk to the delivery person again, and we want to keep you as a customer."
"I'd like to stay a customer, Yvonne, but something has to be done." He hung up at that point, knowing the next thing he said would not be appropriate for a lady or conduct becoming an ATF agent.
+++
It lasted three weeks this time. On the twenty-second day, the paper was nailed to his tree - through the center of the paper - with a note.
The note read:
Tomorrow's my last day, go on and complain, you pompous, arrogant ass, but for the past year, I've had you asking, 'What's the Point'. Thanks for the year of laughing at you.
Signed, Your Delivery Person.
I'M OUTTA HERE!!!!
"Son of a bitch!" Chris roared, pulling the paper from the tree. He stormed up to his house. He figured he should calm down before he called the paper, got Yvonne, and reamed her out.
A little later, when he got home from work, he thought of a suitable revenge.
+++
The next morning, the paper delivery person went to nail the paper to the tree and stopped himself, laughing hysterically.
A neon sign blinked over the newspaper box saying, "Insert here". The box itself was painted like a bull's-eye, and the subscriber had stretched the mouth of the box wide open.
On top of the post was a note:
Thanks for giving me the foul mood I needed to deal with my men. Look inside the box. Signed, Your Pompous, Arrogant Subscriber.
The delivery person looked in the box, and sure enough, there was a present for him.
Wrapped in about fifteen of the plastic bags was an envelope. Each of the bags was coated in a different substance - shaving cream, mousse, water, ink, etc. - and the last bag had an envelope.
Of course, the envelope was wet.
Inside the soggy paper was a gift certificate to a local restaurant and another note:
Had to make you work for it, like you've made me work for my paper all year. Good Luck to you.
By the way, I'm mailing my check to them wet.
The End