Yikes, More Catalogs

This is the time of year when some one or two hundred million catalogs come zinging through the mail slot in our front door. It is pretty much the only time of year I pity postal workers. As a retired sort, I am often here at home for the endless noise of catalogs plopping to the floor.

And, as a curmudgeon, these things are gold - you will not catch ME actually venturing out amongst the Christmas shopping rabble to wrestle for that last who-gives-a-#@%$ in stock. No, I shop by catalog.

And phone. Sure, you can idiotically type your credit card number into every catalog web site and such, but most places code off of your catalog when you call - "what are the numbers on the back cover in the blue box?" followed by "Is this indeed the curmudgeon?" It is a relaxing, pleasant holiday shopping ritual.

Except for this year. Now the catalog dweebs don't let you start with a human - nooo - you call the number and get an automated answering system rather than some nice person for starts.

Just connect me to a human, dammit.