Woe betide me...and UPS

Before I get into my latest riff on modern life in all its angst and sunshine, I just have to mention that despite years of correction, my grandmother still pronounces UPS as “ups,” rather than U.P.S. And while technically she’s right, since there are no periods to indicate that UPS is an acronym rather than just a regular word, it kind of drives me around the bend. Because I am crazy about stuff like grammar and usage (and many, many other things, but we won’t get into that here). People who know this about me will often deliberately misuse the language just to watch my eyes bug out in spectacular fashion. Sweet William, for example, will say things like “Well, her behavior really runs the gambit” or “Break out that dreaded apparati” with a straight face, just to see how long I can stand it before I correct him.

I never said I didn’t have flaws.

At any rate, I am currently irritated with UPS because I am still working on getting them to credit me for a package – a Christmas gift! – purchased for Sweet William and delivered to the front door of our apartment building on December 10. I never saw this package, nor did anyone sign for it. I know things are busy around the holidays, but why would you leave a package sitting outside an 80-unit, 5-story apartment building on a fairly busy side street in a mixed-use commercial-residential area and expect that the rightful owner would (a) even know it was there and (3) be the person who picked it up and brought it inside? I am more than a little ticked about this, but not as ticked as I would be had it been a very expensive present. It’s a paperback novel, one that I thought my sweetie would enjoy, but certainly not an extravagant gift, and not his only Christmas present from me. But still.

And I can’t go buy a replacement, because it still isn’t clear, despite talking with UPS this morning, whether UPS is ordering a duplicate from the shipper (Barnes & Noble) or whether they are just going to issue me a check. They are still waiting for paperwork from B & N to determine which course they choose. Totally ridic.

And I’ll admit it: I wanted to read the book, too. Dad gum it!