O, Canada . . . stop doing business like this is still Russia (I mean you, Purolator!)

When I was a kid, the local Ontario Liquor Control Board consisted of a bare room at the end of which was a wire wicket window in a blank wall, fronting a storehouse of booze. Patrons used stubby golf pencils -- the same kind we use to vote with to this day -- to fill out small request forms that were printed in 5-point unreadable font. Then they submitted the form to the grim-faced bureaucrat in the wicket who retrieved the booze from the storehouse. After being charged an unconscionable amount of money, you were sent on your way with your purchase in a shitty brown bag.

When we wanted to buy sports equipment, we went to Consumers' Distributing. This was the absolute Black Hole of Retail; Nietzsche's Abyss. Consumers' had a great showroom filled with bikes and basketballs, jewelry, radios, weights and boxing gloves and heavy bags, baseball gloves; everything. They also published a huge catalog that found its way into virtually every Canadian home. When I wanted to buy a basketball, my parents took me to Consumers' where I flipped through a catalog that was chained to a desk in the center of the store. Using a stubby golf pencil, I filled out a tiny request card that was printed in 4-point unreadable font that had about a hundred different spaces to fill in. When I was finished, I gave the card to the gray-faced bureaucrat behind the counter. He went into the back and 99 times out of 100 came back and told me that specific item was not in stock. If I wanted to find out if any other brands of basketball or baseball glove or weights were in stock, I had to fill out another form for each. This was called commerce in Canada in those dark, dreary days. Usually, the next few basketballs I sought were also not in stock. There were outings to Consumers' where I would fill out a dozen cards and leave empty-handed. Nothing I wanted was ever in stock and there was never any word when it might be in stock.

That was the early 1980s when Canada was the western branch of the Eastern Bloc. Canadian businesses were run by Kremlin-trained, industrial-revolution-era managers.

That proud tradition of Canadian customer disservice lives on in 2008.

Case in point: Purolator Courier Ltd.

I ordered a laptop computer last week and tracked it online to my door today. I was at work when the delivery guy came to my house. He left a "We missed you!" card on my front door. No problem. In the past, I've gone over to Purolator to pick up my packages myself when the delivery truck offloads at the end of the day. After all, it's my property that's in their care and I want the goddamned stuff now.

Well, the good, old, reliable Devon Plaza pick up office of Purolator Courier Ltd. has a manager who's decided that the 1980s way of doing business was too good to let go. The manager decided that I -- and everyone else who might go in this evening to pick up their property -- must wait until tomorrow. Yeah, that whole allowing people access to their own property thing doesn't really work for this manager on Friday nights. It just makes life easier -- for everyone except the customer -- to close up and then offload packages that could not be delivered that day.

And Purolator Courier Ltd. is A-OK with this. Hey, this is just the sort of backward-thinking they seek in managers. I hope the idiot was given a mounted brass toilet in recognition for this fabulous regulation.

Canada, the Dark Siberian Days of Consumers' Distributing are gone. An invention called the World Wide IntroWeb has made it possible for consumers to deal with businesses who are in business to do business. When ordering my laptop, I had no idea Purolator would be involved with my order. Over the years, I have known several people who have worked for Purolator, and every last one of them was disgruntled down to their fungus-ridden toe nails. My personal dealings with Purolator as a customer have been similar to today's debacle -- my item is in the city, it's on the goddamned truck, but oh, oh, oh . . . I can't have it until Purolator's good and ready to relinquish my property to me.

Fuck you, Purolator. I will not be denied!

Update

I went and got my laptop. Contrary to what the poor, beaten, abused girl working the counter had told me on the telephone, apparently Friday is the only day of the week when patrons can come in and get their stuff the same day they missed the delivery to their homes. Whatever. I have my laptop and a renewed lesson with Canadian Commerce.