The letter informing me the transport of Molson's Vats of Infamy would be delayed never came. The notice at Challenger said postponed until further notice. But no fool I, I check the Challenger site daily. I expected a return to this bother. I predicted Christmas Eve as somehow appropriate from these Grinches.
I wasn't far wrong.
Two days ago, Challenger's site warned of the impending movement of the Vats of Infamy starting tomorrow (Friday Dec. 17th). The procession will reach my backyard, resulting in power loss sometime over the next few days, likely Sunday night. I'm guestimating because the #(*$#)(*& at Hydro One won't tell me what their highly-educated Engineers say. Deeper into the throes of winter than we have been in some while, this news is as welcome as a Molson's beverage ever will be in this home. I don't drink the stuff, but, of course, I occasionally like to have refreshments on hand for that rare occasion when I welcome visitors in my home. Ah, Molson's ain't gonna happen. Ever again. Ever. But I digress.
The real interesting sideline take on all this is the magnificent job my local Hydro One company has done on my behalf. Beside bending over for Molson's (graphical image completely intended), Hydro One has completely and utterly futzed up in their duties to me, the customer (there are, reportedly others). I only know about the restart of the Parade for the Powerless because I am paranoid and keep checking a site daily that has NOTHING TO DO with me and my life. The moron (I direct you, once again, to Cyril Kornbluth's famed short story) who is in charge of public information for Hydro One has once again deemed it likely a fortune-teller would magically inform all who are about to be affected by this Poopy Procession that they are about to get seriously cold and probably without Sunday Night Football. The idea others might want to know they are about to go cold turkey hasn't ocurred to him at all.
I'm sure I will see some recompense in the bill. That's the kind of hysteric idiocy some people say when sick and about to get cold. Guilty on both accounts. Did I mention I have been suffering the ravages of my own cooking over the last few days?
A plague on every house involved in this. No, not the houses of my fellow victims. But a Scrooge-like wish for schadenfreude to be visited upon all the $(*@%& who deemed this to be a good idea.