Return To Sender

With the ongoing debate of voting-by-mail occupying our news of late, I laugh on a daily basis.   The sleazeball Democrats and the do-nothing Republicans argue over the consequences with this year's Presidential election.   The shit on the left says Trump is going to control the ballots.   The morons on the right are convinced that the other side will do all sorts of fraudulent things with the results.

What everybody forgets is something that I have known for years now.

The United States Postal Service is a disaster.   

Oh, I'm not here to denigrate conscientious mail carriers who are dutifully on schedule every day in the middle of the country regardless of rain, snow, or whatever.   Yep, there are places in this once great nation where the mail gets handled properly.

But in big cities like Los Angeles and Chicago and New York where staffing is controlled by diversity quotas, the most "qualified" folks are not necessarily behind the counter or toting a mail bag.

I offer my own experiences over the past ten years as exhibits for the court, your Honor.

Like the time I saw my female mail carrier sitting in the truck outside my building eating her lunch in the truck and flipping through a magazine.  An hour later, I found mustard stains on my newly delivered edition of "Entertainment Weekly."   

No, I am not making that up.

Our building mail is delivered now after five PM.  I've discovered that this now happens on a schedule of every other day.

Uh-huh.

I've written before about mail I regularly get for one Thadeus J. Phillips.   This has been going on for a year.   And, from what I can see by the front of the envelopes, Thadeus is in a bit of a pickle.    Numerous tax citations from the government.    

I checked with folks in my building who have been here long term.   No one knows a Thadeus J. Phillips.   But that's my address and apartment number on his record.

I tried to explain this to my mail carrier who might be autistic.   I get nowhere. They keep delivering the mail here.

So I go to the general post office to talk to the division manager.   His response?

"Talk to your mail carrier."

Vicious cycle continues.

There are dozens of other stories about mis-delivered mail all over my building of nine units.    I get perfectly addressed and legible Christmas cards returned in March and April because the carrier in New York obviously can't read.

And now the dumbbell Democrats want to entrust a Presidential election to the mail.    

One more exhibit, your Honor?

Over the past month, I've gotten four different mail-in ballots addressed to four different people who used to live in this unit.   Yeah, that system works.   

Well, at least, one of the ballots wasn't addressed to Thadeus J. Phillips.  Hopefully he will be in prison by November.

Which I think means he gets to vote anyway.

Grrrrrr......

Dinner last night:  Sausage and salad.