Sunday morning is supposed to
Sunday morning is supposed to be a nice quiet time for some good coffee, quiet music and a good Sunday paper. Since I live in Salinas, none of the local papers qualify. For the last year or so I’ve run down to Border’s in Sand City and usually picked up the L.A. Times or the New York Times. Then four weeks ago, some rep from the New York Times calls (during dinner, of course), and tells me they’re starting home delivery in my neighborhood. The first four months will be at half the newstand price and I don’t have to put on pants on Sunday mornings, so I’m thinking yeahhh – good deal. For the first time in years I said ‘yes’ to one of the pricks who calls during dinner. Four weeks later I’ve cancelled my so-called subscription. They were never able to deliver a paper in Salinas on Sunday morning, thanks to what their voicemail computer calls ‘production problems,’ even though they never missed getting a plentiful supply to Border’s fifteen miles away. They never succeeded with their promises the first two weeks to deliver a replacement copy on Monday morning. In sum, one of the world’s great newspapers has what is possibly the worst delivery and customer service systems I’ve ever seen. Oh well, #$%# them. Pongo was missing the Sunday morning rides in the truck anyway.
