costs of bad customer service,remedies for bad customer service,reporting agencies for bad customer service,lawsuits for bad customer service,

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PostNet NV187, Carson City, Nevada, Sucks, and You Can Take That to the Bank


This website is a work in progress as of February 17, 2019. I expect it to be in flux for several months.

Go to Quick Summary is part of this problem

More Unhappy Customers (victims)
More Unhappy Customers (victims)

Oh My God -- why didn't I Google these idiots first?

Now that I see just how bad this company is (above), it ignites a fire in me. I really, really, truly don't like bad businesses. It's time this one got the attention it obviously so richly deserves. I will commit all the money I can to advertise this page.


In some poor, obscure places in the Philippines, girls will come to you and offer you babies. Often it’s a scam. Or sometimes they’re only showing you that the baby is hungry and they want money or food. But in a handful of cases ladies tried to simply give me their babies; they were more inclined to do this if you were accompanied by a lady, but sometimes that didn’t matter. They didn’t want money in some cases. They would have taken it gladly had it been offered, but first and foremost, some of them just wanted the baby to live. It wasn't going to, if it stayed with them. I've had this happen in the Philippines and also in Saigon, and once in Cambodia.

Once I walked through an area of street dwellers in the Pi, because I tend to prefer the company of street dwellers, and a woman ran up and shoved a baby in my arms. I backed away without taking it, then noticed that fully one third of its right forearm was missing the flesh down to the bone. Flies camping on the tendons. She later got across to me that it started out as a bad burn, but then got infected; she had tried to remove the infected flesh. I have no concept of the pain that baby endured. I told her to GO HOSPITAL, even though I knew she couldn't. She shook her head. In the Philippines, even to this “modern” time, if you can’t pay, you die.

I told her to stop, and sit, and wait. I would come back. But she knew better than to let any farang who even spoke to her, out of her sight. I started to walk away towards a market. I knew there was a pharmacy of sorts in the back – just a plywood bench in the jungle. The woman walked along with me and gathered up maybe five of her other kids to trail along. Now we were a spectacle.

Got to the market, three armed guards out front - typical for Pi. They saw us coming and blocked the door with shotguns. I asked about the pharmacy. They raised their shotguns as if to aim. I yelled PHARMACY. English is somewhat universal in the Phil. They didn’t answer but grudgingly let us push (push) through. They weren't sure if they could get away with shooting us (only me, probably). Inside, two or three more armed guards. The Philippines is nothing if not armed -- I remember an ancient SNL skit called "The Armed Family". The Philippines is like that. MacDonald's will have three shotgun-wielding "tough guys" (and a couple of women!) out front, and three more inside. I don't like the Philippines. They wear guns like yanks wear baseball caps. You think America has a gun problem? It does, but it pales by comparison. They tried to stop us. Yelling PHARMACY had sort of worked, and continuing to walk straight ahead without faltering worked too, but I had said it loudly enough that everyone in the store heard it and now all commerce stopped and everyone stared in stunned silence. This time I had to physically shove the guards to get through. I glanced back to see if the ducklings were still following – yep, right on my heels, and they grinned at the guards like “fuck you too, we is comin’ through. Shoot a farang if you dare, you fuckin’ heathens!” I had to smile. I'd been accidentally shot in the chest long ago by a shotgun at long range. Some of the pellets are still in there. The shock power was incalculable and life-changing. I waited for that same feeling, but in the back.

Got back to the tiny, filthy pharmacy. Girl at the counter saw the baby’s arm and jumped back two feet and yelped. I asked for betadine and gauze. No have. Hydrogen peroxide? Couldn’t translate. But they knew what was needed and prepared a little package of stuff I had never seen before. Real meds or not? Who knew. Then they charged me easily ten times what a Filipino would have paid. Ok, whatever – I paid. Instructed the mom. Slipped her 100 pesos. Left. Guards glowered at me all the way out. The kid surely died later. When you’re confronted with that five or ten times a day……you don’t react exactly as you might the very first time…

Was I a "good guy"? No, I was a louse and I will take it to my grave. If I'd had a beating heart, I would have taken them to a real hospital and prepaid the fee, because all services there are prepaid, or you don't get treated. They "say" that in the USA too, but you KNOW you'll get treated regardless. In the Pi, no, you won't -- you'll die on the hospital steps and I mean that absolutely literally. I've seen cases in SE Asian countries where respectable western people with money have ended up in the hospital due to accidents, heart attacks, whatever, and they were unconscious and so were unable to make payment arrangements. The hospitals tried to charge their credit cards before treaqting them, but for whatever bizarre reasons of incompetence, couldn't get them charged -- so they refused treatment and the people died. That happened to two different older men in the same hospital ON THE SAME DAY not far from me, and it happens every day. Anyway, the cost for initial treatment for this baby might have been $100 to $500 US. I could have paid it. I should have paid it. I knew that taking the family to any local church would be wasted time and effort. They see so, so many of these that even the churches shut down their consciences, lock up their hearts, and their purse strings, and just say no. They just can't cope with any more misery and need..

So that's what I should have done, and I didn't do it, and that makes me pretty-much a scumbag. When I first came back to SE Asia to stay, I was initially very hardened to this kind of suffering. But it's funny -- over the last recent years I haven't become more insulated to this kind of misery; I've become more sensitized to it. I did the barest minimum I could do for this baby. I was scheduled to fly out the following morning so I have no idea what ever happened. The kid is either alive, and begging on the streets today because it lost it's arm, or it's dead. The region this occurred in was a radical Muslim stronghold at the time. Caucasians were vanishing daily, all around me, at all the places I frequented. 95% of the time the radicals didn't even ask for ransoms; they just took the people out in the bush and tortured them awhile, then dumped their bodies onto the sidewalks of the towns. I carried a brick everywhere I went -- until it was stolen. Little good it would have done against crazy fools with machine guns. I doubt I could ever get back in there in the current (2019) state of terror that holds that region in its grip; it's much worse now than when this happened years ago.

I was on the mailing list of over 130 churches, orphanages and other charity organizations just in the Philippines alone. When I obtained a virtual mailbox through Lauren A. Chamberlain I notified every one of them of my new address, along with the hundreds of other contacts around the world. One month later, when Lauren A. Chamberlain apparently illegally terminated my mailbox service, because I threatened to report her to the Better Business Bureau for her shoddy business practices, I was forced to begin that long, tedious, laborious process all over again. Who knows how many lists I got dropped from, how many orphanages I will never hear from again, and how many critical correspondences will never reach me. I know at least two banks have sent me updated credit cards -- those are now gone, vanished into the black hole that is and I wonder if it will turn out that some friends or relatives of theirs will ultimately end up being caught for using them. The banks are now forced to cancel those cards and send out new ones, while my existing cards are currently expired. Lauren A. Chamberlain is, to me, one of this earth's nastiest pieces of human garbage. Pedophiles and drug dealers are lower, but Chamberlain is right down there circlin' the drain. By comparison, the Grinch is a bloody saint.

I sometimes wonder what other people would do in the same situation as described above because I sometimes wonder what I SHOULD have done differently. It's something you never stop pondering. And lately, I wonder what Lauren A. Chamberlain would have done. Based on her behavior in this case, and based on her actions detailed on the email page of this website, I believe wholeheartedly that when this woman and baby approached her, Chamberlain would have shoved her away, and barked at her to fuck off. That's what I believe. That is exactly what I believe. This damned woman is a menace to decency.

I have hundreds of stories like this -- maybe this website is as good a place as any to tell each and every one. That'll take me to the end of my life. It's a noble cause.


Average slums in the Philippines -- Copyright (c) -- millions would consider themselves lucky to even have homes such as these. These were taken by me about 400 clicks north of where the above incident took place:



Here's another:

I had a friend decades ago, named Kurt. We worked as commercial divers together. We were always horsing around, playing practical jokes on one another that were safe, sane, and benign. If you ever find a friend whose sense of humor is on the same wavelength as yours, treasure them, because they can make life worth living. Nothing makes life easier to swallow than genuine humor.

One day I decided to buy a tugboat. Kurt wanted a piece of it, so he chipped in $5000.

We brought the boat home and fiddled with it for awhile; then Kurt lost interest and drifted back to Alaska, near Tanana.

Later on, I was in a position to buy him out, but I could never just send him a check.

I withdrew $5500 from my bank and then had a party. I drafted as many people as were gullible enough to come, and we set out to watch movies, eat popcorn, and crumple 5500 one dollar bills into little wads. It sounds easy. It might even sound fun to the stupid -- but it sucked.

I stuffed them all into a big cardboard box, about 2 feet by 2 feet by 2 feet. I had to stuff them down a little to close it. I taped it up and mailed it by regular post to Kurt's PO Box outside of Tanana. He had no idea it was coming.

He checked his mail every couple of weeks which involved walking about a mile and a half as I recall, down a snowy path to a run-down travel trailer which was the area's official United States Post Office. About twenty native Americans, Eskimos and Aleuts, waited outside. Inside was packed -- maybe ten more people in there, all wearing huge stuffed coats and massive boots -- everyone wanted to be inside because it was warm. Maybe 50f.

Kurt, a 6'5" German, wedged his way inside, waited through the queue, and was finally given his box. He saw it was from me, and thought maybe I had sent him a nice down coat or something, because it was very light, so he was quite excited.

He shuffled the box over to a little shelf and slit it open with his hunting knife. The flaps flopped back and a few loose one dollar bills spilled out. This caught the attention of the Eskimos inside, and that caused them to crane their necks and to see that this big old box was just stuffed to overflowing with MONEY. Native people in Alaska tend (tend) to be quite poor. They eat very, very well because the land provides, but they like money as much as the next person and they seldom have any. A big box overflowing with cash was, well, it was fresh liver to a band of hungry lions.

Kurt smelled trouble, so he buttoned up the box as quickly as he could and pushed his way out the door. Of course he was followed by virtually everyone inside, who told everyone outside what was going on. These weren't robbers, per se, but they were, well significantly interested in this box. Maybe a little too much so.

Kurt said he set off for home, which was his own trailer, almost buried in snow, a mile and a half away down a winding and darkening path in the 3 pm twilight. Thirty natives followed closely behind on the single-file trail. Kurt said he started out walking, because there was far to go and he didn't want to exhaust himself in the beginning. But the crowd pressed right to his heels, and after half a mile were starting to bump him, and grab his coat. Then he started to trot, as did his pursuers.

Towards the end he was at a dead run. The box was coming apart and a few bills were dropping to the snow. That was a good thing because it slowed down the mob.

Finally he reached his trailer, which was unlocked, and he dove inside and had to become fairly physical to boot some intruders back out the door. He locked it and secured his custom-made bear bolt, and spent most of the night trying to keep his balance as the crowd rocked his trailer from side to side so violently that everything fell off his shelves and out of his cupboards, drinking and threatening to burn him out.

By about 3 am, most had either passed out or had shuffled off home, except one old Aleut woman who had dug down through a foot of snow, to the ground, and had lit a fire. She sang sad songs all through the night, but Kurt said they were kind of nice, and anyway better than the belligerent threats from the men.

Early in the morning he gave her twenty dollars and some bear meat, and she went away, never to return.

It was a good joke and Kurt got to tell it a thousand times over the next decades. This happened early in the 1980's, but in about 2010 or so, I lost track of him. I heard he moved to the southern US ands got married.

In 2017 I had a very vivid dream about Kurt. I met him in a meadow, near a church. Semi-rural area. He said he was dabbling in Real Estate, but not making any money. Real Estate can be tough. We chatted for awhile about mundane things, then I felt my focus shifting, and I felt myself beginning to drift away from him. He then moved to get right in front of me to block my path, and he looked straight into my eyes and said, "You know, people will tell you I'm dead, but that's obviously not the case." Clear as a bell, word for word. I thought that was a quite odd thing to say. I answered OK, and then drifted on to some other dream and eventually woke up.

I went straight to the Internet and Googled him up. Indeed he had moved to a kind of pastoral area in the southern US -- Maybe Kentucky, and become involved in the church, and was dabbling in Real Estate. He had died four years earlier.

I have always wondered what other people would have done with that big box of cash, and how they would have handled the band of broke Indians who, accustomed to the tribal way of community property, only wanted their fair share, and I wondered, especially how I would have handled the old woman. Now I wonder how Lauren A. Chamberlain would have handled her, but I think we know.

Surely, I think, she would have called the police and tried to file for a Protection Order because, at her core, that's who she is.

I don't believe for a New York minute that in her heart and soul, Lauren A. Chamberlain is a true Nevadan. I think she's a silly, spoiled, screeching California yuppy. God knows that's what she acts like. Maybe she is so steeped, now, in the putrid, whiny California culture that has commandeered western Nevada (now known as eastern California) that she doesn't know any better. After all, the people around her are increasingly acting like illogical shits, so she thinks that's really Nevada culture. It was a sad thing to see in its beginning when I lived there -- I got out decades ago because I couldn't stomach the disgusting transformation. But now, clearly, the Invasion of the Body Snatchers is complete, and western Nevada, and its once logical, stand-up, decent set of values, is a write-off. So sad.

The stories above, while true, are just fun fluffy filler for this website; they do serve to illustrate a point, albeit an abstract one. If the reader prefers to get right into the nuts and bolts, nitty gritty of our lawsuit against Lauren A. Chamberlain,, and, please go here and here.


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