scene: the grande ballroom/ cargo office/kitchen of HAWSEPIPER's afloat global HQ/sanitarium.
voice on walkie-talkie: dock to (redacted).
me: (redacted), go ahead.
voice: yeahhhhh, (redacted), we have no available pipelines for your cargo for at least the next 12 hours. Should be between 0500-0700 tomorrow before we can receive your cargo, over.
me: ugh. Roger. Understood. Please keep me informed.
Hawsepiper picks up the phone, dialing a number from memory
voice on phone: dispatch, this is (redacted).
me: Hey, (redacted), this is Paul on the (redacted). Just got word that there's an internal transfer going on at the receiving terminal, and we're going to have to stand by until some time after sunup tomorrow. I'll call you when I know more.
voice: Roger. Thanks for the call.
Fast forward 12 hours
voice on phone: Hey, this is dispatch. Are you done yet? What time will you be done?
me: (Sighing). No, I left a delay notification on the computer AND called last night. They weren't ready for us. Should be ready to start in the next little while.
voice: but (redacted) expected you at 0600 for your next cargo!
me: uh-huh. 's why I called last night. We're still here. Loaded.
voice: we'll get back to you. (hangs up)
they never get back to me. A bunch of grown men receiving and taking messages, but never actually giving them to anyone.