Poor Pony. He had a bad day on Friday. An incident at work that was somewhat unintentional, and put him in a sad mood. Mrs. HM said there'd be days like this. There'd be days like this, Mrs. HM said.
The Pony was gathering up his mail for delivery, and another worker asked about a package on The Pony's route. Seems This Worker knew one of the residents where The Pony was delivering. The Resident asked The Worker if he'd see if The Pony could deliver his package early, or meet him somewhere he could pick it up.
The Worker showed The Pony the text where The Resident was asking for such special treatment (which is actually frowned upon by management). At first The Pony had said NO, and that's when The Worker showed him the text. It was not that specific text, but one The Pony saw above it, in which The Resident used a politically-incorrect slur in referring to The Pony. The Pony didn't say anything to The Worker about it, since it wasn't The Worker who did the deed. But The Pony brought it up to management, along with the request.
The management said that NO, The Pony did not have any obligation to deliver that package early. And that if The Pony wanted to do a little extra work around the office before leaving, it was available. And that The Pony might also want to take a lunch that day. So not-so-very sadly, The Resident actually got the package later than on a regular mail delivery day. Though I'm sure he doesn't know why. Just sayin'... it's best not to eff with the USPS, even behind their back. Not saying it's right, but I understand.
Anyhoo... that evening, The Pony made his supper.
"Chicken patties, ketchup, mustard, and mayo. Plus Muenster cheese. One's a double."
"A pickle might go well with them."
"Sadly no pickle, lettuce, or good red onion. Or time to toast the buns. My wifi is also acting up today and this is making me sad."
That whole patties picture made me sad. No frills. Drab backdrop as The Pony walked through his living room. To his malfunctioning wifi laptop.
Anyhoo... Things got better for The Pony on Saturday, his last day on that route, when he got assigned to one he asked for since his hold down was up. AND on Sunday, Farmer H took The Pony out to supper:
That's fish tacos for The Pony. Not my cup of tea. But he said they were really good.
Looks like Farmer H had some kind of burrito. I'm sure they both had complimentary chips and salsa while they waited.
Farmer H used a gift card that he got at the Senior Center at Christmas, when "the gals" handed out cards from assorted businesses. It was Farmer H's turn to be sad. He took The Pony to the restaurant in Sis-Town, but the gift card was for their branch in School-Turn Town.
Oh, well. I guess there's another Mexican dinner on The Pony's horizon.
6 comments:
Good that the Pony's workplace frowned upon the resident's actions! Narrow minded people need to be taught a lesson now and again! I love fish tacos!
Kathy,
Good thing it wasn't the co-worker! The Pony said he could have complained of feeling unsafe delivering to that address, and been done with it. But that was too much paperwork that he didn't want to deal with, and his next-to-last day on that route.
Fish don't belong in my tacos! I can hardly watch a cooking show that has them. I like fish, and I like tacos. It's the combo that seems wrong.
That's the thing I hate about gift cards. If they're for a chain, they shouldn't be exclusive as to site.
I'm sorry The pony had to accidentally see that text message, such a thing does tend to put a downer on the day, but I'm glad he reported it.
River,
Yes, and if they're only for one location, it should be designated on the card!
The Pony, as with many of his generation, needs to develop a thicker skin. But yes, it's good he reported it, in case there's ever trouble with that customer.
The thicker skin comes with time and exposure to such things.
River,
Yes. It's hard for The Pony's generation to get over not getting a trophy for every little thing they do, and to realize that sometimes you have to let things go rather than seek retribution for the feelings-hurters. They are too close to their school days, when words were given the same weight as sticks-and-stones.
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