A while past, people such as my family who arrived in the Land O’ Ten Thousand Lakes for the taconite boom were called packsackers. 

Has an unpleasant ring doesn’t it? 

As a newcomer outsider I didn’t know what a pack sack was. Or care. It’s simple, really. Whoever feels they were first-early in line assumed precedence in much the way 1 comes before 2, and 57 will be ahead of 312, except in music theory.

I want to go about this without going rant, so let it be enough to say things has changed a lot and you’ll have to puzzle it same as I. Now to it, non-round form. 

Customer of a firm having the state name foremost, I noticed regular payments for their services went to Texas. No packsacker taint there. We has progressed in between-states cordiality even though Texas was in the Confederacy and a Union brigade from Minnesota took 80+% casualties in one battle. 

Magnanimously setting such things aside, we embraced bill-paying paperwork going to Texas. Good riddance? Let them deal with it. Along with the jobs, that is, some of which took place in a facility right here on the Range within walking distance of my house. Much longer walk to Texas. But anyway, aren’t we nice?

Now which, as you might have cause to do for any number of issues, you had cause to call the customer service side of the operation you might expect, mightn’t you, so catch a bit of drawl on the line’s other end, such as if you called Collin Street Bakery in Corsicana, Texas, been baking and selling since 1896, or so. But, well, um no. You will hear an accent, however with a twang more southerly and further away than Lone Star land. (If North Star and Lone Star was a binder between states it’s not lassoing very well, I don’t think. That last part maybe more correct than I care t’ see.) 

If you listen around parts of the South Pacific and the Asian mainland you’ll hear English with a distinctive melodious tone that wouldn’t do well in an open pit.

Do I hear an understandably expected discomfort (even outrage) at my mention of accent? Do I? 

As one who grew up listening to accents I’m honestly not bothered by them. The issue is (not that I’m able to prove the point) that when referring to the July 4 holiday weekend as a reasonable explanation (again, can’t prove it) for a delayed payment the nice person somewhere in Asia might not get what that means and very sweetly and politely carry on with the script to justify this, that or other. You might, as I was, told appeal is just a call away. It is. But seems once a decision has been cast there is effectively no appeal. So sorry. 

I’m sure more than a few of us have run into versions of this manicured globalized fraud, as in fake/phony procedures that run citizen or customer ragged so they’ll quit and go away.

When comes to some things we’re drug into following stupidly because there is no choice. Once we agree to dumb we’re stuck with it. Such as, in areas of health insurance, there’s an alternate season – Spring, Summer, Enrollment and Winter. 

That’s right. Where Autumn stood there’s now Enrollment Season as if, and it boggles my brain to see why, it makes effective policy to cram a year’s worth of enrolling into one season. Medical needs are year-round, but Enrollment has a season. Creative, clever but not particularly aimed at serving the local citizen in the Minnesota, Texas and Asian system. 

I readily confess to a long history of being an advocate of decentralization. For other reasons, I’ll add. Now here’s another based on witnessing decentralization turned into centralization in a clever here, there and anywhere game of whack a mole. I may be entirely wrong on this, but when you codify a “good of the people” enterprise it’ll wiggle ‘round to a what’s good for the enterprise and lose track of what was meant for the public.

In the case of my recent wrangle, I should have seen at the get-go the bold and unmistakable writing in the sky and on the wall and billboards. All over the place. 

How’d I miss it? My fault and error I’m sure. Maxima Culpa on me. I mean, it was obvious, right there all along plain as lard on a hog. Part of the company name said BS of MN. What likely began well intended is doing a fine job of living up to the BS in its name.

I’m reminded, excuse a digression, of the famous roof and shingles sales pitch of a 35-year guarantee. Fair enough. Prorated. OK, I get that. But essentially useless in the end. 

Why useless? Well, to demonstrate product failure you need to remove a roughly 3 X 2 section with multiple pieces and send it to the company for review. Did I mention February? Did I include the roof’s chalet-style steep pitch? Did they provide any help regarding the gap in your roofing whilst they go about their deciding? Well no. They might get themselves around to that after they have conducted their decision event. Maybe. Perhaps. There’s a chance. Slim. They won’t pay a claim because they’ve paid Barristers to lead them to avoidance of that. Your roof. Your problem. 

Our problem. Legislation said “less petroleum in shingles.” That led to a wimpy product. But not visibly so. So hooray for proration! 

So in the end, seems to me, the louses I berate for selling a faulty product were doing CYA after having been required to fix their evil petroleum-using ways. I’d have probably done the same and not have much option to do otherwise, other than shut down or run or hide. 

But, running out of space, I promise next time to tell a Minnesota variant of the brick shitter and how that unlikely example offers insight into things too numerous to cover here. 

Next time.