Writing Boots

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.

Was it only the Johnny Walker Black Saturday night that made me appreciate this poem, which appears on the menu at Gene and Georgetti's steak house (the boldface is in the original)?