So I get a call from the guard's station in the lobby of the Review Tower.

The security guard tells me there is a woman downstairs wanting to see me.

I try to maintain control of my time when I am at work, so I ask him what she wants. He hands her the phone.

She tells me she is having a problem with "The Slice newspaper."

I ask her a few questions and quickly determine that she is actually talking about the Wednesday giveaway my company tosses in people's yards.

Nothing to do with me. Nothing to do with my column.

I suggest she ask the guard to direct her to the Circulation Department. I encourage her to have her name added to the "I don't want this" list. But she goes ahead and gives me an earful about how much she loathes the green-bagged Wednesday shopper.

"They pile up in my driveway," she says.

I realize it is not four-star customer service to ever say "That has nothing to do with me."

But boy, that has nothing to do with me.

Slice newspaper indeed. Why, I oughta...

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