I know you’ve already sorted everyone for Christmas, but I have a few late entries for the Naughty List. Do you think you could squeeze them in?
Please deliver one very large box of coal to each of the following:
- Bank of America Customer Service. NO, I don’t want to hear my balance, sign up for a money market account, or keep the change. I know how to do that online, so please get rid of those canned messages. All I want is a representative. REPRESENTATIVE! REPRESENTATIVE! REPRESENTATIVE! Please God, make them connect me to a representative before my toddler melts down. Naughty BofA!
- CIGNA. Every month I get at least one letter about how K-Pants’s pediatrician filed a claim wrong two-and-a-half years ago. Everything’s resolved, but the letters won’t stop, and CIGNA hides their customer service number down some website rabbit-hole that changes every time I look. [FYI, for CIGNA you have to shout ASSOCIATE! ASSOCIATE! ASSOCIATE!]. Stop sending me this letter! How many times do I have to call you? Bad CIGNA.
- The City of Beaverton traffic department. Why are the lights in suburban-land timed so that your vehicle MUST stop at each. one. every. time? I consider this obstructive engineering. Naughty.
- The United States Postal Service. The USPS finally discovered that people like to do things online, so they created a website that’s as easy to navigate as that corn maze in Massachusetts where the family had to be rescued after calling 911. I just wanted to order holiday stamps. But to figure out how long they would take to ship I needed to create an account that asked for my mother’s maiden name, social security number, a brief job history, five adjectives to describe myself, and my thoughts on global warming: fact or fiction? No thanks. Also, when we moved from the Bronx, one of my boxes had been labeled “Lil Heavy” in red marker, driven over by a truck, and my Chicago Manual of Style had been taken out. The Chicago Manual? I guess you decided “Heavy” did need a capital letter?
- Oregon motorists who drive ten miles below the speed limit. Your driving really does a number on my efforts to actually make it through a traffic light in Beaverton. Do you not have places to go? Are you so zen that you’re actually enjoying the drive? Are you relaxed and breathing calmy when you arrive at your destination? Okay, I can see why you like what you’re doing. But still: Naughty List.
Santa, I would appreciate it if you delivered the Naughty List offenders coal dust, because that’s harder to clean up than lumps. (I mean, only if you have it on hand, of course. Don’t go out of your way.)