So I've been writing endless copy for months to promote the E2E Communication Awards, of which I am program chairman and which you should enter immediately if you value any one of the following: the future of the American workforce, the discipline of employee communication or your job.

For online flyers, web site copy, e-blasts, and several other promotional vehicles, I thought I had used every marketing phrase I could think* of to describe the uniqueness of the awards program, the urgency of entering (deadline, May 22!), the eminence of its judges and the ease of entering the program.

Then it came time to promote the program today, via Facebook and Twitter, and those media's demands for brevity and wit and bite and edge led the following slogan to pop into my head:

"For employee communicators only … but so easy to enter, a PR person could do it!"

* Short of my favorite bit of copy, a local radio spot that describes its offer as "The biggest no-brainer in the history of the universe!"

I just posted then deleted an entry saying the Chicago Tribune had scooped its rival, the Chicago Sun-Times, on the story of the Sun-Times' filing for Chapter 11.

"Chicago Sun-Times files for bankruptcy," blares the Trib's headline. (The Trib can afford to be only so triumphant, being in Chapter 11 itself and all.)

I had to do a keyword search to find the story on the Sun-Times site. Buried in a tiny box under a huge banner add and a feature story about the plight of two-income families (as opposed to two-paper towns) was this whimpering, simpering "Letter to Readers," headlined, "Sun-Times parent company files for bankruptcy."

Oh, just the parent company? Well, never mind, then.

Newspapers don't have any credibility anymore for the same reason so few institutions don't have any credibility anymore: Most modern organizations—from newspapers to banks—are run on fear and greed rather confidence and pride.

And it shows, every day, in every way.

Tell me I'm wrong.

I'm having a deliciously retro customer experience with the Automobile Association of America, who I've been calling to reverse an inexplicable (and, with a 300-mile journey in a 45-year-old truck in the offing, alarming) cancellation of my paid membership.

Already I've been informed that "I'm only telling you what it says here, Mr. Murray."

I've also been told in no uncertain terms that the reason my account has been canceled is that I have moved to Denver. (You can imagine my surprise!)

And then I've been transferred into the upper reaches of the AAA bureaucracy, where a recording told me all agents are busy and to leave a voice mail, so they can call me back within 24 hours. No issue-tracking number, no nothing. The car club of the Fifties, today!

Add to this AAA's antique regional silos, and we have what promises to be a fascinating time-travel adventure into the Customer Service of Yesteryear.

I'll add to this post as developments warrant.

***

Update: A nice man called from the 21st century called and has apparently fixed the problem right up. Of course, I'm disappointed. But it will be good to have that membership nailed down when I set off next Friday on my Lindbergian journey to Cleveland.