![]() The Times (1-800 698-4637) tells me to “Press 1 for English, 2 for Tibetan, 3 for …”). She says she will pass my complaints on to her supervisor. By now I have the Chron’s number on my speed dial (713 220-7211) and am on a first-name basis with Amber. This situation goes on for a week, then two. The Times also assured me that all the news that’s fit to print would be on my doorstep the next morning. “Can I have your name, age, address and the last four digits of your Social Security number?” I am told that the Chron will be on my doorstep tomorrow. I called the Chron “in the great state of Texas.” The paper’s two employees in the circulation department seemed to be busy, but eventually I got a real person. We can start your paper tomorrow.” The next day, no papers, nor the next nor the next. Would you like the paper in English? We are an international paper, so we never know. “We will be glad to put you down for a subscription. My call was very important to them, so I only had to wait one season. “Certainly, can I have your name, address and why you are bothering me? We can start your paper tomorrow.” Next, I called the Times. “Hi, I’m Amber, how can I help you?” I gave her my name, address, and told her I wanted to subscribe to her paper. After being put on hold and listening to “The Best of Polish Polkas,” plus a greeting from the Chron “right here in the great state of Texas,” I finally got a real person. Push 1 for… push 2 for… This call will be recorded in case you are one of those malcontents who make threats, and this way we can track you down.” Of course, these days companies don’t employ humans to deal directly with pesky customers, so we get recordings, something like: “Your call is very important etc. When I moved to my new address, I called up the papers - I take both the Houston Chronicle and The New York Times - to renew my subscriptions. ![]() But my former neighbors, still bailing, hunted me down at the Salvation Army shelter to demand that I come get 23 soggy papers off my front yard. I had dutifully stopped the papers, I thought, once the Coast Guard helicopter had pulled me and my vodka collection off the roof. We are now in our new digs.Īmong our problems is changing addresses for our newspapers. Army Corps of Engineers which released a tidal wave of water from the dams so my neighborhood wouldn’t flood, thus flooding my neighborhood. Having been flooded out of my home by Hurricane Harvey, with a great deal of help from the U.S. Where is the cavalry, or at least a pimple-faced newsboy? But let me begin at the beginning and see if you can identify with my plight. I need my news fix for I am out of touch. Out of news, out of comics, down to my last liner for the bird cage. THE FRONT PORCH – Some day my prints will come, or rather my printed papers will come.
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