guess i missed "how to address an envelope" day in school?

Since it's quiet on the celebrity gossip front today (unless you count Lionel Richie pimping his pending cd by exploiting his daughter's eating disorder), I'll share an interesting anecdote from my "I'm in the wrong line of work" files.

I generally vow to "leave work out of it" because I like being employed and fed and clothed pretty well at this point and generally try to keep myself that way, but an incident yesterday was such ridiculous, unadulterated LUNACY I'm temporarily breaking my cardinal rule:

I was mildly "reprimanded" for the way I addressed my outgoing mail. There were several problems:

• I dared affix a standard, rectangular mailing label ATOP our special, hoity-toity, colorful, off-sized return-address labels. (if that sounds like it doesn't make any sense, you can imagine the trouble the "messenger" sent to inform me of my sins had explaining what I'd done wrong: "You can't put this on this. This label, you can't stick it to this label. You need to put the big label in the printer and print directly on it.") Basically: I put a little label on top of a big label. Label Orgy. Very wrong. My response: "I'm not re-doing those."
• I placed a brazenly ugly "dash" between the house number and street number on the mailing label that I so hideously stuck on top of the other label. In the words of the man ruminating over the shortcomings of my outgoing mail: "What's that dash doing there?!" Gee, sorry.
• I guess I put one of those awful orgy labels on top of the big bad company label slightly...crookedly. The verdict: "That just can't happen." My response: "You feel like mailing these bills out next month? I'll letcha."

SO basically: I failed "company mail 101."

Tempted to say, "Fine - then you better not let me address my own envelopes anymore, I might give the company a bad name." Correct me if I'm wrong, but don't most people rip open and DISCARD the envelope their bills arrive in? If they stand over the garbage can speculating about label-on-label implications, I clearly belong on Mars. Or in Namibia.