Confession time. And, shame on me, really. On the other hand I have always been very clear that not every letter needs to be a love letter. Sometimes you just crack under the pressure of bureaucrats acting like jerks who either do not care or have a little tiny bit of power that they are only too happy to lord over any sentient being.
Back to the point. In my desire to be a good and cooperative citizen I replaced two toilets with low-flow ones. Bonus: I was told by my plumber that if I "fill out this form,” as he handed me a some sheets of paper, “you will get a rebate on these.” Evidently something the city offers in order to encourage good and green behavior. Turns out the only thing green was the slime I found myself in on the road I took.
In any case, I filled out the forms, including one that had to do with how many employees I have here on this project. And, they want some IRS form filled out that I do not have because I do not employ anyone. I did my best. I sent in what the very nice rep on the Water Department phone told me to send; a slew of receipts showing I had paid for these toilets, the large and unwieldy stickers from the toilets (adding up to about 10 of them) that I had to peel off the cardboard and affix to plain paper along with that form they wanted that I downloaded. This pile I placed in a manila envelope and stood in line at the Post Office for about 45 minutes so I could mail it in.
For my efforts I got a return letter from the Rebate Department telling me I had to send in, well, exactly what I already sent in. I was furious. I sent them a letter that, looking back, makes me shudder. I told them to keep the money, let someone pilfer it or misspend it as usual or something to that affect. Now, let me say that the people of the SF Water Department have always been tops in my book, and I have actually, over the years sent them unabashed love letters for their sweetness, promptness in answering the phone, personability, intelligence and willingness to help.
I don’t know what went wrong with the rebate department; it is another creature altogether. However, this does not really excuse my tantrum in an envelope. I don’t think I was obligated to send them a love letter or a thank you of any sort at all because their behavior is wretched. I know this because I recently replaced two toilets in another city and sent in only the receipts saying I paid for them and got my rebate in 5 weeks. It was easy and the officials of this other town were gracious and honorable.
I could have said all I said without accusing the rebate department of wanting to pilfer. I wish I had. I think in either case my letter would have found its way swiftly into the wastebasket, but I would not have felt like such a savage dweeb if I had done it nicely. Sometimes in life the only reason for taking the high road is so you won’t feel like a wretch. Good enough reason.
Remember, the low road, sometimes so very appealing, is covered in filth, muck, contamination by a dangerously bad atmosphere, and the danger of having your core self poisoned by the conglomeration of trash that wanders it. The high road guarantees clean fresh air and fabulous company.
I know what I am talking about here from the few minutes I had to spend clawing my way out of that low-road sewage. I hope I will never send a nasty letter again but will learn, instead, to express my rage in a more constructive less vindictive manner.
Gotta run. I’m going to go work on it right now.
From me to you with love in the air,
Janet
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