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| We make you wait.™ |
My days (and to a lesser extent my nights) revolve around METROLift now. I'm always scheduling tomorrow's trips (always tomorrow's; that's the only choice because that's as far ahead as they let you schedule), waiting for a lift (they claim they aim for 90% on-time service; in my experience it's more like 90% late) or checking the increasing lateness of the trip I'm waiting for using their telephone service (lots of fun, as I dial endless digits on the microscopic buttons on my old cell phone to operate their MACS system to find out how much later they will be than they advertised when I first scheduled a trip). METROLift absorbs my life.
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Bag it and go?
NO! Hell no! |
Today I shall make my first attempt to go to my Post Office box. It isn't far, but it wasn't on the MACS web site's dropdown list, so I had to phone a human at Metro, always a chancy business. I managed to add the PO's location to the list just fine, then asked if there was a provision (as I had been told by one of the drivers) for an errand that was just a five-minute dash: go to the PO, dash in, dump mail from the box into my sack, dash out and get back on the lift.
NO, said the very young man on the phone...
the minimum time between trips is 45 minutes, and would you like to schedule your return trip?
This will not be easy. This Post Office (like most of them, come to think of it) has no seats in the lobby. So I shall stand with my walker for a minimum of 45 minutes... probably a half hour beyond that, considering METROLift's record of lateness. I don't mean to complain, but that is flat-out unreasonable to expect of a disabled person. I said as much to the very young man on the phone; he launched into a rambling explanation of why it had to be that way... all bullshit, of course. So I shall spend much of the rest of the day nursing my sore foot and stump, all to satisfy a bureaucratic mandate. Welcome to 21st-century America; enjoy your (far too long) stay!
UPDATE: ah, what an optimist I am. The ride home, scheduled for 45 minutes after my (theoretical) arrival time, was actually 1:30 afterward. Yes, an hour and a half. I did not have to stand up that entire time: the cookie shop next door to the PO allowed me to sit at one of their outdoor tables unmolested, and didn't even pressure me to buy a cookie. There are still some decent people in the world.
