Yeah, it seems everyone in the reading world is ranting right now. Well, the authors anyway, about this whole RWA mess. I totally get why they’re upset. I would be too if I was in their shoes.
I have my own rant to contribute. But since I’m not an author, aspiring or otherwise, let alone a member of RWA (an organization I’m increasingly grateful I don’t have to deal with) I’m not going to rant about the same thing as everyone else. Nope. I’m going to have myself a little mini-fit about my trip to the post office this afternoon.
First off, let me just say I hate making trips to the post office. It’s a pain becuase there is NO parking lot. None. Parking on one side of the street only and most of it is handicapped right around the post office. So it’s a huge production for me to go there, take packages in and drag the baby along. I put it off so long I ended up having 9 packages to send. We have a bag to put the carseat in for airplane trips. Yeah. That’s what I used to cart the packages out of the house and into the post office. It was full. And heavy as s**t. I’d guess I had close to 30 lbs (at least). I was mailing a lot of boxes of books.
So anyhow, I drag myself and the baby to the post office today. 100% humidity. 90 degrees outside. 90 degrees upstairs in my house since the air conditioning unit went out up there. I’m slightly cranky because the baby hasn’t napped (or slept) well for two days because she has to nap(and sleep) downstairs in the main living area where all the noise and activity is.
I lug this huge bag of books into the post office and plunk myself down at the counter. Get everything appropriately stamped, confirmed and mailed. Grand total, $82. I hand over my Visa check card and am already thinking about something else when the following conversation ensues with the postmaster (it was a woman for those visualizing the scene)
Postmaster: Your card isn’t signed
Me: I know, my picture is on the front
Me: pointing to the postage size stamp picture on the front of the card (while thinking it’s kind of f**king hard to miss)
Postmaster: I can’t accept this if it isn’t signed
Me: I don’t sign it because my picture is on it. If my signature isn’t on it, people are forced to look at the picture.
Postmaster: *pointing to paper taped to counter* It’s policy not to accept unsigned cards.
Me: I have NEVER had a problem using this card before. It has my picture on it.
Postmaster: I can’t accept it unless you sign it.
Me: *stopping to read the stupidest f**king rules about a signsture on card*
Let me just say that I read this paper while my face was turning purple because I did NOT want to sign my card. The paper was a long litany of how they couldn’t accept unsigned cards for the customers protection. Blah blah. If the customer refused to sign the card, it could not be accepted. Having ‘See I.D.’ written in there instead of a signature was not acceptable. But NOWHERE did it say anything about credit cards with pictures.
And I’m thinking to myself, “okay self, you are going to sign this card. Why? Because you need to pay for all the heavy f**king packages you just lugged into this stupid a** post office. But it seems like the most moronic f**king thing for them to not accept an unsigned card but for it to be perfectly acceptable to sign it right there. What is that going to prove? Of COURSE the signatures are going to match. I just f**king signed it.”
End of Intermission.
Me: Give me a pen and I’ll sign it.
Postmaster: Thank you.
I commence to sign the card, about which I am incredibly pissed off because when cashiers look at your signature, they don’t really care if it matches or not, they’re only looking because they have to. But if the signature isn’t there, or it says SEE ID, then they are actually forced to look and see if it’s that person. That’s how I protect myself.
So she runs the card, gives me the receipt to sign and I SHIT YOU NOT, she compares my signature on the receipt to the signature on the card. I couldn’t make this stuff up.