The Twilight Saga, part 4

It is no secret that I am not Twilight’s number one fan. The first response I usually hear when I tell people this is the suggestion that perhaps I am secretly a Twifan deep down and am in a severe case of Twinial. This puts me in between a rock and a hard place*, for if I agree, I am joining the ranks of Mike the park ranger, and if I disagree, I am usually slammed with a variety of questions, most of which fall along the lines of, "OMG, how can you not just loooooove it?!" Eventually, every conversation usually boils down to the J-word, and I am accused of being jealous of Stephenie Meyer, Twilight, and the success the former has achieved with the latter.

*As opposed to being in between The Rock and a hard place.

In light of the aforementioned accusations, let it be said here and now (and in no uncertain terms) that there is not a single jealous bone, muscle, or tendon in my body when it comes to Stephenie Meyer or Twilight. While it is true that I certainly would not mind dumptrucks full of money arriving at my house on a daily basis, I also would not want to take the risk I am convinced Stephenie Meyer did—that is, entering a fiddle contest against the devil with the stakes being my soul against a #1 selling teen romance series.

The devil bowed his head because he knew that he'd been beat/ He laid that golden series on the ground at Stephie's feet

When it boils down to it, the scariest thing about the Twilight Saga is not the vampires, the werewolves, or even the writing (zing)—it is the fanbase. Fans of Twilight run the gamut from screaming preteens to hyperventilating quinquagenarians and everyone in between. Little girls read the books hoping their future husbands will be exactly like Edward (or, if they are really little girls, exactly like Jacob). Older women watch the movies and wonder why their husbands are not exactly like Edward. And the occasional guy who stumbles across the series cannot help but wonder why every woman in the world, regardless of age, wants her husband to be a distant, domineering, powerful creep with a thing for girls 1/6th his age.

By those standards, this is as close to Edward as a man can get.

Now, do not get me wrong. I am fully aware that with every major cultural phenomenon—especially with books and movies—there arises a large, devoted, nerdy following. Star Trek, Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, and Harry Potter (to name a few) all have a similar partisanship. All the heretofore mentioned groups have devotees who dress up to attend midnight screenings. All have disciples who rant and rave for hours on internet forums as to why their series is so much better than the others. And all of them even have conventions where fans can buy and sell truckloads of paraphernalia.

What separates Twilight fans from the previously mentioned ones, however, is the level at which Twilight fans operate. I would dare say that of any of the listed phenomena, Twilight has the fans that could most easily filed under "obsessed". If you do not believe me, just go to any opening-day movie showing. Yes, the Star Wars nerds will be in costume and having lightsaber duels; but it is all in good, lighthearted fun. Nowhere do you have girls literally screaming and gasping for breath whenever Obi Wan walks on the screen. (And I am sorry, ladies, but Ewan McGregor is ten times hotter than Robert Pattinson could ever dream of being.)

It's simple algebra, really.

And when it comes to homemade collectibles, Twilight fans take the cake. My mother recently told me about her run-in with something called the New Moon Experience, which is pretty much exactly what it sounds like. And what did she see during her sojourn? Vampire teeth necklaces, sparkle-in-the-sun-like-Edward cream, and pretty much everything on this list. (Take special note of the plush Bella womb, complete with stuffed zygote.)

How this can be construed as anything other than "really, really creepy" is beyond me.

Sadly, Twilight fans, as crazy as they are, have recently proven that they are a force to be reckoned with. New Moon was released in theaters a few weeks ago and—much to the surprise of everyone who has ever watched, you know, an actually good movie in their lives—it made more on its opening weekend than any movie. Any movie. Ever. (Even more than The Dark Knight, which was, you know, an actually good movie.) And thus it was proven that Twilight and the culture thereof cannot be stopped. For if a group of girls can prove that they have more zeal than comic book nerds—who, for the uninformed, are hands-down the most zealous people on the planet—then I suppose it is only a matter of time before they have completely taken over.

Le sigh.

And so it is.  But do not fear, fellow nerds.  Though we may have lost the battle, at least we still have our dignity—for you will never see a Star Wars fan with this on their wall:

Sensory Swept

Firstly, allow me to apologize for not having an entry yesterday. I was all ready to finish off my fourth installment of the Twilight Saga when I remembered I had won tickets to an AFI concert, having been a fan of the band since high school. Needless to say, the concert was sweet—although, it concerned me somewhat that Davey Havok no longer looks like the long-banged singer I remember and now looks more like the (admittedly sexy) lovechild of George Michael (the singer/songwriter) and Jake Gyllenhaal.

Men of Greatness

While I will finish my Twilight opinions on Thursday, today I would like to talk about something akin to bloodsucking, though perhaps a bit out of place on (what I hope is) a funny blog. (For those who know me, you will recognize the following story. For those who do not, just know that I was (sadly) caught in the middle of all this.) Without further ado, I bring you the words of Mr. Jesse Fruhwirth from Salt Lake's own City Weekly (http://www.cityweekly.net/utah/article-9896-sensory-sweep-shortchange.html):

Sensory Sweep Shortchange
Game Over: Utah videogame company shortchanges its employees.

Last year's video game Major League Eating for Nintendo Wii and other consoles got mostly lousy reviews, but it might seem even less fun to play if players knew that the Utah programmers and artists who engineered it were not paid for their work, and the company president is now facing tax-evasion charges.

Salt Lake County independent video-game developer Sensory Sweep Studios closed this year in a fantastic implosion of overdue bills, unpaid wages and criminal charges against its owner and his wife. According to the U.S. Department of Labor, the company owes nearly $1 million to about 200 former employees, some of whom feel slighted that prosecutors are using the threat of incarceration to collect unpaid taxes but applying relatively "toothless" civil actions to collect their unpaid wages.

"I would love to visit him in prison," former employee Paul Grimshaw said of Sensory Sweep president Dave Rushton, echoing the sentiments of other former employees who spoke to City Weekly. "I have a $4,400 dental claim that is probably going to force me into bankruptcy because they weren't paying dental insurance premiums. ... We started not being to able to pay our mortgage when Sensory Sweep stopped handing out paychecks on a regular basis. That put us in a hole, and we haven't been able to dig ourselves out yet."

Grimshaw says he is owed about $10,000 in unpaid wages alone.

The Rushton clan's history of financial tumult starts years before the founding of Sensory Sweep, including a personal bankrupcy filed by Dave Rushton in 1996. Sensory Sweep was cobbled together with employees and contracts from Saffire Corporation, another Utah independent video-game developer owned by Dave Rushton's brother, Hal Rushton. Hal later worked for Sensory Sweep.

Grimshaw worked for both companies, although most employees of Sensory Sweep say they were only vaguely aware of Saffire's history. Grimshaw says he quit Saffire in 2001 when the company was late with paychecks because "they almost went out of business in 1997, and we went three months without pay [then]."

Grimshaw filed an unpaid-wage claim against Saffire in 2001 and was awarded $3,000. Years later, he agreed to work for Sensory Sweep because he needed health insurance and didn't have other job offers.

Sensory Sweep's financial troubles began less than two years after it was founded. Court records from 2005 show the company received multiple judgments from the Utah Labor Commission and the Utah Department of Workforce Services. The largest of those judgments was more than $64,000, for not paying unemployment insurance between May 2003 and December 2004.

In September 2005, Sensory Sweep filed for bankruptcy, but the workers didn't notice, says former employee Todd Smith, who stayed with the company through two business name changes. "Whenever they filed bankruptcy, nothing changed for us. I was on the same project, I had the same cube [workspace]. … I ended up working for a totally different company and didn't know it."

Sensory Sweep Studios had already been registered in February 2005, months in advance of Sensory Sweep LLC's filing for bankruptcy in September. The original company remained in bankruptcy proceedings until October 2009, nearly a year after the company registration expired with the Utah Department of Commerce.

That was not the last time the company gathered debts and quietly reorganized under a new business name, according to records and employee statements. In 2006, Smith says, "I got two [W2s], one from Sensory Sweep and one from Fooptube." Each of the three companies was registered under the names of different Rushton family members. For example, Christopher Rushton was listed as the registered agent for Sensory Sweep LLC, and picked up a civil bench warrant—records show it was never executed—for failing to appear for a court hearing in 2005 tied to the $64,000 judgment from Workforce Services.

The game-ending troubles began in 2008. Grant Heath says that employee's 401(k) stopped receiving contributions in early 2008, yet their paychecks were still deducted for the next few pay periods. After a company meeting, "they stopped taking the deductions, but they never did anything to rectify the fact that money had been taken out and just kind of lost to us. Soon after that, we started getting bounced paychecks." The paycheck problems started when a big customer, California's Brash Entertainment, folded in October. Employees say Dave Rushton claimed as much as $2 million was owed by Brash.

But the company didn't lay anyone off immediately, despite the huge financial blow, and Rushton reassured workers that the company would recover.

Several employees filed unpaid-wage claims at the end of 2008. In January 2009, the U.S. Department of Labor filed a civil suit against Fooptube—the latest of the company's registered names—and Dave Rushton individually, on behalf of 196 current and former employees. The case led to a consent agreement, signed in February, in which Rushton promised to pay $942,000 by September, a promise that was not fulfilled.

In April, the Utah Attorney General´s Office filed six felony charges against Dave and wife Maureen Rushton for failure to file a tax return, tax evasion, unlawful dealing of property by a fiduciary, communications fraud and for a pattern of unlawful activity, or racketeering.

In June, the Labor Department filed a contempt petition alleging they had received six more complaints from employees, beginning in May, claiming they weren't being paid. In September, the Rushtons were slammed with a $654,000 judgment in an eviction case in which Fooptube and Sensory Sweep were also named.

Citing the criminal charges, the Rushtons declined comment, but Dave Rushton's defense attorney, Darin Goff, says his client was not living a lavish lifestyle. "I can assure you, I don't believe there were any expensive cars or expensive homes. Mr. Rushton is a fairly ordinary individual with a very normal standard of living. … The company has met with some very difficult problems related to the economy and industry."

No former employees claim Dave Rushton was living the high life. He drives a minivan, one said. But employees City Weekly interviewed claimed Rushton was a terrible manager who employed too many unqualified family members and deceitfully reorganized his company to avoid paying bills, taxes and workers. They want him stopped before he does it again.

While the tax-evasion and racketeering charges could put Dave Rushton in jail, several employees are disappointed that the threat of incarceration is not attached to their unpaid wages— only the unpaid taxes.

The Utah Labor Commission has also been investigating Rushton for unpaid wages. Wage Claim unit manager Brent Asay said he cares about workers, but with eight people total in his unit and 2,700 wage claims filed in the past fiscal year, they are doing all that they can. Asay said his office needs the cooperation of prosecutors to file criminal charges against an employer for unpaid wages, something that has not happened in Utah—in his memory—in about 10 years.
"[Government regulators] don't care about how many people have suffered without their money for this long period of time," says Kimberly Howell, whose husband and daughter are owed a combined $20,000. "They're focused on their money."

Game over, indeed.

I could add to that, but I believe the article pretty much covers it. Please (and I mean that ever so sincerely) help spread the word in any way possible; hopefully, once enough people know about it, something will get done.

The Twilight Saga, part 3

While the Twilight love story no doubt raises a slew of "awwww"s from the majority of the audience, it raises a few very large, very red flags to me. For starters, despite knowing that Edward is a vampire early on ("Say it. Out loud!"), people seem to forget that by virtue of being a vampire, he is actually quite old. Like, over 100 when Twilight starts old. And Bella? 17. Taking that into consideration, Twilight is no longer the story of a teenage boy liking a teenage girl. Rather, it is the story of a 102-year-old man—who has not been with a woman in quite some time, as he makes clear—who breaks into a 17-year-old girl's bedroom to watch her sleep. And for some reason, not only is this not frowned on, the exact opposite happens—people think it is the cutest thing ever. Keep in mind, though: in any other context, this situation would involve people instantly crying "Foul!" and a visit from Chris Hansen.

Why don't you have a seat right there, Edward.

Another red flag is raised by how quickly Bella not only falls in like with Edward, but how quickly after he leaves she starts hanging out with Jacob, and then how much she jumps back into Edward's stone cold hands when he returns. Now, those who know me know that I have nothing against romance and falling for people—in fact, those who know me best could probably retell stories from my past where, romantically speaking, I was even more of a girl than Bella.

strictly romantically speaking

But the way that Bella pines and bounces over/between guys basically establishes her as a girl who not only wants a guy, but needs a guy to be complete. Where that gets scary is when the aforementioned hormonally-imbalanced teenagers read the books and start blurring the line between being able to be with someone and not being able to be without someone. And that is precisely the moment at which girls do utterly stupid things, thinking they will be able to be with their guy again. And that, my friends, is a perfectly normal and healthy mindset which always leads to good results.

Oh, wait...

Perhaps the largest and most crimson of flags (you know, the ones Max Hall hates) comes from Stephenie Meyer's strange double-standard of what it means to be an independent woman—or an independent woman part II, if you are of the Beyonce persuasion. Over the course of the books, Bella travels her obligatory (and textbook) character arc, with each plot point ending in her becoming stronger. Great, right? It would be, except for at the end of the saga, Bella is forced to sacrifice everything about her past, her life, and her beliefs and completely conform to Edward's lifestyle, his family, and his convictions in order to be with him. So in the end, we have a story that supports being an independent girl, as long as you do everything your guy says—including joining the ranks of the undead.

strictly, strictly romantically speaking

Coming up next... the Twilight culture. Or, as I like to refer to it, the Cult of the Virgin (Until Book 4, When They're Married And It's OK).

12th-century history jokes, anyone?

The Twilight Saga, part 2

The Twilight Saga consists of four books, all with cosmothemed titles—Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse, and Breaking Dawn. A fifth book, Midnight Sun, was planned and half-written, but then abandoned, presumably because Stephenie Meyer grew tired of swimming through gallons of Twilight revenue, Scrooge McDuck-style.

The S is for Stephenie.

Now, from here on in, I am going to be discussing various parts of the books, so a big Spoiler Alert to the very small percentage of people who have not yet read them, but who still have the desire to. (Which, in all honesty, probably amounts to nobody at this point, because I think everyone is pretty much firmly rooted in their camps, whether they be Team Edward, Team Jacob, or Team Does-Not-Live-My-Life-Vicariously-Through-A-Harlequin-Teen-Romance.)

Not Pictured: Team Sane

That last part is a good note to start on. One only has to open any of the books to any random page to see that the Twilight Saga's cup runneth over with sexual tension. From the moment when Edward and Bella meet to when he has to suck another vampire's venom out of her system (in an amazingly thinly-veiled analogy to sexual purity) to when she finally commits necrophilia—ignore it all you want, but that is what sleeping with someone who is dead is, regardless of how sexy his hair is—the books are full of raging libidos. However, since Stephenie Meyer knew her audience would be comprised primarily of screaming 14-year-olds (and 40-year-olds who scream like 14-year-olds, but more on that later), she toned down the tension and put it in teen-acceptable terms.

Stephenie Meyer, hard at work

The problem with doing so is many-fold, the most prevalent of which being this: when you tone down romance novel situations (i.e. "He grabbed her heaving bosoms, caressing her silky white skin.") to teen levels (i.e. "He touched me with his cold hands, sending a chill to my very core."), it still brings all those feelings that romance novels bring (you know what I am talking about), but now it introduces them to a whole new audience—an audience that already has a hard enough time figuring out what their hormones are telling them without the aid of what is essentially PG13 porn.

The original Twilight cover

At the core of the Twilight books exists a love triangle between Bella (a girl), Edward (a vampire), and Jacob (a werewolf, if you could not see that one coming). Actually, I guess it is more of a love V, because to my knowledge, Edward and Jacob never have feelings for one another. Although, who knows? That very well may be the subject of the Twilight Saga's next book, Midnight Sun Cowboy. It is no secret that Bella is in like with Edward, but when he leaves her (to save her, like in Moulin Rouge), she immediately throws herself into the waiting arms of Jacob—and by "immediately", I mean she throws herself off a cliff in hopes that Edward will save her before she splats at the bottom. You know, what every teenage girl should do if her boyfriend leaves her.

This one is free, Stephenie.

In the end, Bella ends up with Edward (surprise) and they get married. While the subject of "How can we grow old together when one of us is immortal?" bounces between them, it only truly comes to fruition after Bella becomes pregnant. Because the baby is half-human, half-vampire (like Blade), it has all sorts of powers, including super-strength—super-strength to super-kick her mom's spine in super-half during delivery. And if that was not enough, the baby also has the power of super-placenta, which eventually results in, as readers of my previous posts may remember me mentioning, Edward performing a cesarean section on Bella with his teeth! After the thorough trouncing that is childbirth, Bella has one foot in the grave. Edward has no choice but to turn her into a vampire to save her life. Precious, right? Oh wait, aside from the utter morbidity of that situation, did I mention that Jacob, Bella's former semi-beau, sees Bella's baby and immediately falls in love with it? And not the "oh, I love that baby" sort of love... the "oh, I love that baby" sort of love.

Hey cutie. Nice umbilical cord.

I think that shall be all for today, but do not fret. There is plenty more yet to come.

Turkey Day

In elementary school, I was taught a number of things, many concerning my country. I was taught that George "Honest George" Washington cut down a cherry tree, then felt so bad that he immediately fessed-up to his father. I was taught that Christopher "Don't Call Me Chris, Lest I Be Confused With The Director of Harry Potter I And Home Alone" Columbus not only discovered America, but discovered the earth was round. I was also taught that Benjamin "All About the Benjamins" Franklin strongly advocated that the wild turkey, not the bald eagle, should be the bird chosen to represent America.

Men of Greatness

Due to the advent of the internet and, more importantly, the Grand Repository of All Truth (read: Wikipedia), I later came to find out that the aforementioned stories—as with most things taught to me in my youth—are, well, less-than-true. Washington's integrity-affirming story was completely fabricated by his biographer. Columbus was not the discoverer of America—he had to jump in line behind the Scandinavians and the Chinese, at least—and he full-on knew that the earth was round (you know, that is why he knew that he could get east by going west). And while Franklin wrote (somewhat ironically) in a letter to his daughter of his disapproval of the bald eagle, he never campaigned for the turkey, as I am sure most of us were lead to believe.

At last, we know the truth.

And so, as you go to your various Thanksgiving Day gatherings and gorge yourselves stupid on food—because, you know, it is the best way to show... your... thanks?—and you have that *one relative who makes a wise crack about being "thankful that [they] don't have to eat bald eagle" for Thanksgiving, you have my permission to slap some sense into them.

*You know, that one.

On a closing but very related note, I am stoked, quite possibly beyond words. Why, you ask? Well, I was watching the Discovery Channel the other day and I saw mention of what I can only assume is their newest program.

For those who are having trouble reading that, here is a closer view:

That is right. Just in time for the Thanksgiving season, the Discovery Channel is apparently creating a show called "Man vs. Wild Turkey". Finally, there is amazing programming on television once again.

I hope, nay, pray it is exactly like this.

The Twilight Saga, part 1

I think it would be a fair assumption on my part to say that anyone and everyone reading this—be they friends, family members, or Mike, the rosy-cheeked, dry-humored park ranger who lead the tour of Jewel Cave that my friends and I went on during an impromptu 2005 weekend sojourn to South Dakota—has heard of/seen/been introduced to, in one way or another, the phenomenon known as The Twilight Saga.

Pictured: Mike, park ranger

(Actually, now that I think about it, it would not surprise me in the least to find out that Mike is Twilight's #1 fan. In fact, it would not surprise me in the least to find out that Mike is not only the president of the Black Hills chapter of the Twilight Fan Club, but he has also written multiple volumes of fan fiction entitled "Mikelight", where he has written himself into the story as the Cullen's long-lost cousin who has become a park ranger because he too cannot bear the thought of taking human life and now must spend his days giving tours of caves so that nobody can discover his shadowy yet sparkly secret. Not saying anything bad about Mike, of course. He just seems the type.)

Pictured: Mike, superfan

If, for whatever reason, you are unfamiliar with the subject, allow me to expound for you. The Twilight Saga—named "Saga", of course, because once the fourth book came to be, they could no longer call it a "trilogy", and "quadruplogy" just sounded stupid—is your typical Boy Meets Girl story, wherein Girl moves to a new town, Girl meets Boy, Girl falls head-over-heels in like with Boy, Girl tries to get close to Boy only to have Boy push her away, Girl gets sad, Boy finally opens up to Girl, informing her that he knows of a deep, dark secret: vampires. Oh, snap.

Bolt jokes, anyone?

From there, Twilight gets weird. Like, really weird. Like, rip-open-your-uterus-with-my-vampire-fangs weird. (And no, that is not a euphemism.) But I digress; we shall discuss all in due time. Now, I am aware that it is fairly old hat to make fun of—in blog form, no less—Twilight and all that is entailed therein. The main problem with this is, of course, not that Twilight is unworthy of mockery, for that is most-certainly not the case. Rather, the problem is that those who poke fun at Twilight usually go for the easy shots; and easy shots, by their very nature, are oft times the weakest of arguments. I mean, honestly, there is a lot more to talk about than the fact that Edward glimmers in the sunlight.

Edward's sun-sparkle

That being the case, my intention over the next few posts will be not to mock; rather, I merely wish to share with you a few of my opinions regarding the saga that is in no exaggeration of the word invading our lives. And if, along the way, a snide comment or two stems forth from my mouth (or fingers, as it were), know that they are legitimate concerns that have valid points... at least, valid in the eyes of the guy who spent five (5) posts talking about how he has been wronged by the post office.

Tobias's sun-sparkle

Going Postal, part 5

V: Delivery Confirmation?
(November, 2009)

As the "part 5" would indicate, I am now reaching the close of my postal tirade. Over the past few days, we have learned a lot about geography, a lot about systems, and a lot about procedures. The posts and stories have made us have laugh, made us cry, made us ponder, and made us facepalm. Now, if I may, let me share with you the last—and, perhaps, most egregious—offense in the ongoing war between the USPS and myself.

facepalm

Through my virtually daily perusal of craigslist, I recently found a chap on the other side of the country who was selling, well, in the interest of half-disclosure, let me say a certain video game accessory that is of great worth to me. I ordered one from him and a week or so later, it arrived in the mail. Overjoyed, I showed this accessory to one of my friends, who instantly wanted one. I ordered another one and a week or so later, it arrived in the mail. Another one of my friends heard about this accessory, so I ordered one and, true to form, a week or so later, it arrived in the mail. I was in functioning postal system heaven.

cartoon facepalm

In retrospect, I should have stopped at three, because as School House Rock taught me, "three is the magic number". However, another one of my friends heard of the accessory and, having assumed that the USPS had repented of its sins—as a major part of repentance is refraining from them—I ordered another one from my newfound associate. As always (though not previously mentioned), the package was sent with a tracking number. For those not in the know, this is basic tracking number theory:
  1) The package is given a number and barcode.
  2) At each stop along the package's route, the barcode is scanned and the status is updated online
  3) All this is to prevent, nay, eliminate the risk of a package getting lost.
Keep in mind, that is the theory...

polar facepalm

Naturally, when the tracking number online informed me that the package had arrived but there was no sign of it in my mailbox, I was a bit concerned. Back at home, I searched for quite literally an hour, trying to find the phone number to my local post office. However, since the USPS does not seem to believe in any form of customer service, the closest thing I was able to come up with was leaving a message with the conflict resolution center at usps.com. A few days later, I got a phone call from Jill, who was pictured in the first "Going Postal" entry. That is when the fun began.

baby facepalm

Right out of the gates, Jill insisted that there was no way her postal worker could have made a mistake, as he is a "good guy". When I asked if she offered any other solution as to the whereabouts of my package, she actually had the gall to imply that I had either lost it or was trying to pull a fast one on the post office. I asked her what the process of scanning a tracking number is, to which she replied that the postal worker literally scans the package one foot away from the mailbox, and then puts it in. Upon hearing this, I put Jill on hold and called up NASA, as it appeared that a black hole had emerged, entirely localized one foot away from my mailbox. After the NASA call, I called Jill back and asked her what exactly the point of a tracking number was; she explained to me the aforementioned theory.  I then made the suggestion that while the theory of tracking numbers might work, perhaps there was a problem in the execution, as I was still packageless.  Apparently, this was something Jill did not want to hear, as she quickly told me that she had other things to do and tried to get off the phone.

presidential facepalm

Before losing her entirely, I asked her what the USPS intended to do as far as reimbursement. She asked if insurance was purchased for the package; I told her it was not, as I see something fundamentally flawed about paying someone money to do a job, and then paying them extra to assure they do it correctly. Imagine if all businesses operated this way:
  "And I'll have the lobster bisque."
  "Very good choice, sir."
  "Oh, and waiter?"
  "Yes?"
  "Here's an extra twenty to make sure you don't drop my food on the way out."
  "Thank you, sir. I shall see to it."
To this, Jill—who I assume at the time was sitting atop her throne made of crushed hopes and candy stolen from children—actually laughed and said that if I wanted, I could file a formal complaint with the post office in thirty days. When I asked her why the thirty day period, she replied (and I quote): "Just in case the package shows up." That is right: at the end of it all, apparently the USPS's contingency plan for lost items is nothing more than hoping they somehow grow limbs and walk their way to your front door.

implied facepalm