Pet Peeve of the Day: NICKEL AND FUCKING DIMING!!!!

It’s not even 9:30 in the morning yet when some rather irritating schmoe who will remain nameless (since a few of my favourite coworkers do read this) walks in with that look on his face that begs for a full-on knuckle sammich.

He wants to know why, on his most recent invoice, there was a charge for postage. His employees, he says, stamp everything they send out before dropping it into my little mail bin. They don’t want to pay the 20% administrative fee for our pro-stamping machine thing. However, I know for a fact that there has been at least one occasion on which they have dropped an unstamped envelope into my bin – which was therefore stamped and billed, because that’s how it works here.

I know for a fact because I record everything I stamp and bill. Right down to the address and suite number. And I can call it up on my handy dandy computer whenever you like. I also know for a fact that I had stamped a mail item of theirs because they managed to make idiots of themselves on that day too.

In fact, looking at the dates, this is the precise piece of mail that was brought into question this morning. It wasn’t .52 cents, as I had originally wrote without actually caring enough to determine the cost before relaying the tale of stupidity. It was a larger item, costing 1.10. After our 20% administrative fee, this means that they were billed a whopping $1.32 cents for postage on their bill.

They came over to me this morning to self righteously challenge a fucking dollar-thirty-two on their bill! These people pay hundreds of dollars for office space, phone lines, fax lines, internet connections and get charged up the ass when they so much as make a photocopy. Yet the panties are in a bunch over less than a buck and a half. Because I am not a fan of bunched up panties, particularly not on ugly middle aged fucktards who bring in their mooching children on Breakfast Fridays (porch monkeys! I’m surrounded by porch monkeys!!!), I simply open up my program, type in the company name and type of billing i’m looking for and wait for the whrrrr of the machine.

Pop. Right there. You sent one item on this date to this address and it cost you this much. Thanks for playing. You lose.

They mutter something and walk away. Oh, I’m sorry, did I cost your company a bit of extra money by not double checking whether you really wanted me to stamp your envelope or if you had just forgotten to stamp it yourself? Did I put you over your postage budget for that month? Look, dipshit, you put an envelope in my bin and it doesn’t have a stamp on it, I fucking stamp it. That’s what I get paid to do.

But, since they’ve walked away muttering, I care not. Get your panties as twisted as you want, as long as I don’t have to watch them riding up your ass.

However, no. No, no, no. The big important jerkface sends one of his underling females back. She starts muttering – because they all mutter – about something with a missing stamp. No, I inform her. He’s referring to an item that was unstamped, and was therefore stamped – and billed – by me. Look. I pull up the information again. Whhhrrrrr, whrrrrr, there it is. You sent this item on this day to this address, to this fucking suite number. It cost you this much. Fuck off, you lose.

Oh, she says. Yes, he wants that to be printed out for him.

Are you fucking serious? You want me to print out a one-item report so you can have a meeting about who caused this dollar-and-a-bit fuckup?!?! You want me to waste the ink, the paper, the calories, the electricity to do this for you? This will probably cost MY company more than what someone’s apparent error cost YOUR company. If I were spiteful, I would charge it right back to you. Photocopies and faxes are a buck a page. Frivolous printing should be a buck a page as well.

Whatever. Don’t give in to the corporate way. Don’t spazz out getting all indignant on behalf of the mother ship. It’s no dollar out of my pocket. It’s wasteful, and the environmentalist in me is pissed, but I will print out the report for their budgetary analysis or whatever the buzz word for it is. In layman’s terms I’m pretty sure it’s just ‘giving shit to whoever forgot to put a stamp on there’.

Sure enough, the meek quiet one who brings her kid in for free food comes by with more postage, double checks that they are all stamped, and then shuffles off with her tail between her legs. Is this really necessary? Are you that hard up for cash? Why the hell are you starting your own business if you can’t afford postage?

Listen, I’m poor. I started up my own business (but got a real job when it wasn’t enough to pay the bills), moved out and put myself through school in one year. This bankrupted me. Literally. And I’m okay with that. Because that’s the kind of shit that happens and you deal with it. I’m essentially getting my school for free and starting from scratch. Awesome.

Now, the relative poverty is circumstantial – it wasn’t caused by shopaholism. I try not to spend money when I can avoid it. But when I do spend money, I am not a fucking cheapass. I fucking hate cheapasses! Hate them, hate them, hate them. I am not going to break out the calculator after dinner to figure out who owes that last thirty cents to make it a 15% tip. If I’ve got $30 for the night, I’ll get some nachos and a couple of pints of beer and then just toss it all down. You guys figure it out, I personally don’t have a problem over-tipping at my favourite cafe. If I can afford $30, I’ll spend $30. If I can’t afford it, I don’t go out. Don’t you fucking dare split an $8 entree with someone and put down a ten. That does not cover tax and tip you jerkwad. Cheap, cheap, cheap. You are not fiscally responsible, you are cheap.

I’m poorer than you, so you have no excuse.

As for you fuckers with the postage problem, I suggest that you stamp your own mail, and then take it down to the mailbox in the lobby yourself. You know, just to make sure I don’t get spiteful and start stamping them anyways. Wouldn’t want another $1.32 on your next bill. That might bankrupt you, you know.

Fuckwads.