my missing culture

After a loungey morning in the bed with SK, we parted company and I headed home to regroup. SK had lunch plans at noon and I was anticipating a nice, sleepy afternoon with the Sunday New York Times, my subscription to which had just restarted when classes ended. Well. When I got home awhile ago, no Sunday Times greeted me on my doorstep and I was really, really annoyed. As you may have gleaned from other posts, I live in a basement and I have my own entrance on the side of the house, down a set of long, concrete stairs. My address contains the descriptive (and confusing) "Lower Unit" and, to make matters worse, my upstairs people get the Sunday Times as well. The fucking nimrods who deliver our papers can't seem to get it through their heads that two sets of people live in this one dwelling and each set wants a separate copy of the paper. Two out of every three papers never showed up last winter and that's why I originally decided to cancel my subscription, but the woman on the phone talked me out of cancelling and talking me into simply suspending delivery until school was over (I wouldn't have had time to read the papers if they'd been coming back then, anyway). She also offered to give me six-months at half price and that's what sealed the deal. When I called a couple of weeks ago to restart, I clearly explained that I have a separate entrance and gave instructions for the delivery people to leave my copy at the bottom of my stairs, not on the front porch with the upstairs people's copy. That worked last week, but I guess it was just too complicated to retain, because it didn't work this week and now instead of reading the book review I'm kvetching about it all on my fucking blog like an idiot. Ah this modern age. It's kind of depressing.