Taking Back Sunday (from the Tribune)

No, this isn't a gushing fan girl post about the Emo band of the same name. It's about the Chicago Tribune. You see, they can't seem to find our house. The postal service, UPS, FedEx, and the pizza guy all seem to have mastered the advanced geographic complexities involved in finding a house in a fifteen year old sub-division. The Tribune delivery service, unfortunately, navigates using the original paper maps drawn up by Lewis and Clarke. It's hard to get your bearings with a sextant when its light out, I understand. It is with great trepidation and sorrow that we decided after three Sunday's of missing papers that perhaps paying for them was not the best investment of our funds. We could have, for example, thrown that money out the window, or converted it into quarters which we could have then laid on the nearby railroad tracks to be squished by trains. I'm sure a quarter squished by a train is worth at least a nickel. So, after three failed Sundays, the hammer fell and Sue canceled the service thus ending our brief affair with one of the city's two major metropolitan newspapers. Or so we thought. At 7:00 AM on Tuesday I was awoken by the ringing of the telephone.  Who could this strange caller from deepest darkest Indiana (219 area code) be?  It was our Tribune delivery representative demanding to know our exact geographic location. I politely surrendered the requested data and ended the conversation so as to attempt to get those last 5 minutes of sleep before the alarm. Unfortunately, I never bothered to explain that we had canceled service. I await Sunday with eager anticipation. Will we get a paper? Will they attempt to charge us for it? Will we get our refund? These and other answers await you in the next installment of Steve's Blog. Until then you'll just have to live with the suspense. And before you ask, no we're not going to try the Sun-Times, it folds weird and I won't have that in my house.