I’m madder than Wilbur the pig when he found out that that spider who had been weaving stories about him in her web spit the bit over the fact that I had my heart set on getting myself the perfect Christmas present but when I went to the store to get it for me it was sold out!
Look, you all know the ol’Screecher usually has his holiday shopping done by Thanksgiving, and when I say “his” I mean “my lovely wife Sharon’s,” and when I say “done” I mean “started,” so it should come as no surprise to you that I’m still going crazy trying to find presents for myself this Christmas.
And the thing that I really got my eyes on is this crazy giant mechanical hairy tarantula that I knew would be great to play together with my six grandchildren and three dogs — Luna, a frisky Boston Terrier; Guinness, a giant who loves to slobber all over you; and Penny, a Havanese aristocrat from Cuba.
I was confident that my Tarantula toy could have eaten them all up at the same time!
So you could imagine how heart broken I was that I couldn’t get one.
And here’s why.
Sharon and I were waiting for our 3:35 Access-A-Ride-pickup at one of my favorite haunts, the Burlington Coat Factory at 501 Gateway Dr., where the world’s greatest shopaholic bought many things she didn’t absolutely didn’t need, and a cap for me. And we saved a bunch of dough by donating an old, used garment to their needy pile to get 10 percent off our purchases!
Ha!
Don’t ask how much money Sharon saved me that day, but it might have been enough to cancel out the national debt!
Sharon has perfected her shopping system because by being free to touch, exam, and try on every garment she thinks she must have, then depositing them on Tornado, which over-loads my seat, we become a spectacle that invokes envy to every shopper in the store.
Gee, you must be thinking, with all that shopping finished, how could anything spoil a day packed with Christmas shopping?
We had enough time to eat a leisurely supper at Applebee’s, then decided to end our shopping spree at old J.C. Penney’s place at 360 Gateway Dr. We know from past experience that JC has the only lobby that has seats for their customers.
So at 3:30, I called Access-A-Ride to find out the status of our return trip. Well, I was shocked —shocked — to learn that I — that is, me — was, according to their — the MTA’s — records, a no-show in Brooklyn when they came to pick me — that is I — up at the beautiful twin towers of Harway Terrace.
Well, I very calmly asked, “Then how come I have a pink receipt proving you delivered us here to Burlington Coat Factory located 501 Gateway Dr.?”
Nope, they said. You were a no show at W. 16th Street.
No need to say that it was obvious that this conversation with this MTA communication expert was getting no where, but my blood pressure was climbing, as well as the tone of my voice, when I finally composed myself, and asked to speak to a supervisor.
The superior reiterated what was on my call-in record and repeated that it would take 45 minutes to get to my taped conversation to determine whose fault it was.
“Well it couldn’t be mine,” I told him. “I’m here where you delivered us!”
At this point, I was in pain sitting on Tornado since 10 am — going on six hours!
After many, many more calls to MTA, we were told that a 5:45 pick up was on the way.
Lies, lies, lies!
At 5:45 I got a call asking where was I? Where I’m supposed to be: at Burlington Coat Factory.
“Oh,” the driver said. “I’m on the other side by Targets.”
Sharon and I know that mix-ups are rarely the poor driver’s fault, and to quote an old Italian adage “a fish stinks from the head.” The MTA better buy a lot of disinfectants because your service isn’t exactly what the American Disability’s Act was designed to do — get me from place to place whenever I want!
Better, safe, reliable travel is not what is dished out now.
Bah, humbug!
Screech at you next week!
