Paperless

At first it was frustrating.

Then I began to see the humor in it.

By the time I got back home, I had a smile on my face.

For the third time in the past eight days, the morning newspaper failed to appear on my front porch. Or on my sidewalk. Or anywhere in my yard. Or on the city's sidewalk in front of my house.

Okay. I don't read the newspaper in the morning anyway. I read it in the evening. (I used to subscribe to the News Leader, the afternoon paper. When it folded, I switched my subscription to the morning paper, but I still read it in the evening. Odd, perhaps. But old habits die hard. Especially when you're as old as I am.)

I called the newspaper and reported the problem. "We'll try" to get a copy to you, I was told.

My daily routine kicked in, although several places on my agenda were closed because of the power outage caused by Hurricane Irene, and I didn't follow up on the newspaper problem until late this afternoon. I looked on the front porch again. No paper.

I decided to run out and buy a copy. The first two places I went to were sold out. Frustrated, I decided to drive downtown to the newspaper's main office to buy a copy.

I got there at a few minutes past 5 p.m. There was a box out front, so I dropped in my four quarters and pulled the lever. It wouldn't open. I tried again with a different four quarters. Same result.

I walked up to the paper's front door. It was locked. A guard came to the door and told me the lobby was closed. I told him about my problem. He allowed as to how he didn't know anything about the boxes.

I stopped at the CVS at Boulevard and Broad on the way home. They had no papers.

When I got home, I decided to read the T-D online. That's when the banner headline registered: "Powerless."

That's just how I felt.