Call me crusty, but for the past month I have been on the warpath to get my newspaper back. One morning in the middle of December I ambled out to the front of my place where, each and every day, I am welcomed by a daily edition of a certain newspaper (hate to throw them under the bus, so the initials are WSJ). I am fully aware of how totally old fashioned that may seem—to still enjoy reading an actual tangible paper-based version of the news—but old habits die hard.
That morning, to my chagrin, my daily paper was AWOL, nowhere to be found. It is always nicely placed in front of my garage, so its absence was odd, unnerving even. Irked, I glanced at my neighbor’s garages to see if the delivery guy had fired the shot to the wrong one. Nope, no paper.
Next, as I marched up my steps with extra marching emphasis, I went to the computer to check my account status. All good. Hmmm… So, I called to file a delivery complaint, fully expecting to see a paper the next morning. You guessed it…. No paper. Ok, now I am ticked. To make a long story more tedious than necessary, I spent the next several days talking to their customer service desk, filing online complaints, and finally emailing some muck-muck, which initiated an immediate response. It’s the squeaky wheel thing, you know.
Apparently there had been some turmoil here in Orange County with the contractor who is in charge of the delivery sub-contractors….meaning the delivery guys all quit. I mean, how can you cut the pay of a newspaper delivery person! (assuming it was a financial impetus that sent the very reliable delivery person to greener pastures, that or an ICE raid, who knows).
Hey, I have compassion for the delivery guys. In my early 20s I took a job at the L.A. Times delivering papers to pump up my income during a bleak stretch. In pitch black darkness you head to the distribution center, bundle your papers, stack them in your front seat and head out to the various ‘hoods. There was something cool about being out and about before anyone was on the road, and I got pretty good at my aim when pitching the papers.
The high ranking operations human at the WSJ assured me that they were diligently working on the delivery issue and offered me two months free for my trouble. Ok, I will take that, thank you, but still….
Without my daily routine of reading the newspaper things just haven’t been right. I know, how silly that something so mundane as starting each day with caffeination while reading the news would be gratifying, but I like my routine. I missed my newspaper. Sure, they reminded me I had free access to the online version of the paper, but that would never suffice. Why? Because for me, and I know I am a relic, I have an affinity for the tactile experience.
I enjoy holding the paper and allowing my eyes to roam around the pages, seeking the stories I am interested in spending precious time reading. Up and down, left to right, my eye muscles get a workout as well as a break from the computer screen, much less that tiny phone screen. I spend my workdays 24” away from that bright white blue light emanating from the screen, so sitting there staring like a zombie that much longer just to view this quality news source online is not an option.
I love the process of discovery, of turning the pages and not knowing what I will find on the next one. I find myself reading articles about topics that I would never click on, mainly because they are nestled amongst so many that I would click on that I am more willing to live dangerously by expanding my mind and perspective a bit more.
I love the way the newspaper feels in my hand, and how it is just the right size to comfortably hold and manage. I save back two awesome sections from the Saturday edition just to have something to read on Sunday morning (they don’t do Sunday deliveries, God bless ‘em). Mornings for me are incomplete without my trusty paper.
The last month has been highly annoying while the powers that be at this HUGE conglomerate (NewsCorp) figure out how to get a stinkin’ paper delivered to a customer in Orange County, CA. I mean, geez, how hard can this be? Over these 30 days I have had a paper delivered on time only five times. In fact, when I do see the paper there in front of my garage I want to dance a little jig! Some days it shows up at noon (too late, no time to read it by that point), or even the next day. Sometimes the person they have filling in is unsure which garage is mine and gifts my two neighbors with a copy, just so he or she doesn’t miss my house. Well, as they say, patience is a virtue, although mine is wearing a bit thin.
Thank goodness for the free two months, the carrot that will keep me waiting with baited breath until they get their you-know-what together. Meanwhile, I sip my tea while staring at TV news shows—all of which I abhor, except for Stuart Varney’s show—and wistfully pine away for the days that I got to hold the news, even if it was yesterday’s news, in my own two hands. Anybody need a side job delivering papers?