Intense Frustration!

Must... Control... Fist... Of... Death...

Hmmmph. If working for the Post Office is anything like working for The Man, then I am beginning to understand why postal workers snap and start executing their co-workers.

No, I'm not at the breaking point. Will likely never get there. I just begin to understand the mindset.

I've been asked to contact Ms. Lazybones at XXX facility to arrange for some training on one of The Man's policy revisions.

So far, I've called, emailed, interoffice-mailed and if there was still a carrier pigeon service, I'd have used that.

Response so far? None.

This was done at their department's request, mind you. In other words, please send El Capitan over here to help us.

OK, happy to do so. When do you want me?

Crickets chirp. Grass grows. Paint dries...

My schedule is on hold until this gets worked out, since I can't plan on taking a few badly-needed vacation days until I get a response.

Sigh. If I have to drive across town to drag this bint out of her cluelessness by her pointy ears, that's what will happen. Mark my words!