We get several deliveries at our home each week. The FedEx guy comes and drops off a slim envelope that contains some paperwork that could have just as easily been emailed. That’s the company HighGuy works for. He has to print out stuff daily, but they send other stuff FedEx. I think it would be nice if they’d FedEx it all and we wouldn’t have to go through printer ink like water.
The UPS people know where we live. They’ve dropped off stuff several times. They get a signature from me or Mom or whoever is in the hallway at the condo, and off they go. No big deal. The Forum comes every day, sometimes earlier, sometimes later, but it always comes. The woman who delivers it wouldn’t win any beauty contest, but she’s dependable!
And then there’s the US Postal Service. Sigh. They really do well — when all they’re really delivering is junk mail. Oh, of course we still get a few bills through the mail, and there’s a momentous occasion when we get something really nice, like a greeting card, thank you note or an invitation.
And why someone who doesn’t like dogs would do this job is beyond comprehension. And why someone who doesn’t like dealing with the public would sign up for this job is also beyond understanding. But there are and they do. We were compelled to install an outdoor mailbox for the building because ONE carrier was afraid of our dogs. We did it. We didn’t like it, but we did it.
And then another carrier comes, and comes right in the door and delivers the mail to our locked interior boxes. OK, that’s very nice. Apparently not all of the carriers understand what that box outside our main door is for. Whatever. So Mom checks the outdoor box and sorts the mail inside, putting the mostly-junk mail into our wire baskets on the wall. And then we have to check both the locked box inside and the wire basket on the wall. We’ll manage.
One day I realized I hadn’t checked our locked box for some time, so I opened it up and found a notice that they’d tried delivering a package. Mom had seen the carrier and told him that she could take the package — she’s my mother. Mom didn’t understand that the USPS carrier had orders to get MY signature on the little piece of paper. She was less than cordial with him because she doesn’t suffer fools gladly. It was only logical that he could leave the package and be done with it. His orders were to get the signature for the person sending the package.
And I know what’s in the package. It’s a wonderful stretch fleece sweatshirt from my son and daughter-in-law that they bought me for Christmas. Unfortunately it was a size too small, so I returned it to the company for the next larger size. Their suggestions on returning it? Insure it. Well, OK, it’s a high-priced sweatshirt, but I’m going to trust the postal service to get it there.
A representative from the Alaskan company who makes the sweatshirts called me. She said that they’d be shipping out my sweatshirt, and that her kids went to Concordia College — just across the river in Moorhead. What a small world. Unfortunately, she doesn’t trust the postal system as much and asked for a delivery receipt from them. That’s why I have to sign the paper saying, I received the package.
I went to the post office two days ago, orange receipt in hand, as well as my identification, and stood in line for at least 15 minutes. The lined snaked out the door into the foyer, and no one at the counters was moving anything too quickly. That’s because they’re all ready for retirement after having walked a route for who-knows-how-many years. But I was already there, so I wasn’t going to give up my place in line out of impatience.
Thankfully, when I got to the head of the line, the person behind the counter actually looked at my ID and took my receipt and disappeared into the back. And I waited some more. Finally the woman trudged back to the counter and admitted that she couldn’t find the package. She would take a copy of my receipt and they would call me when they found it. She took my receipt and disappeared into the back again. I waited. Ah, yes.
I called my mom to see if they’d dropped off the package there. No, she hadn’t caught the postal carrier, but I did have another receipt to sign. So apparently the carrier had the package with him on the truck. (And maybe they waited at the curb to make sure Mom wasn’t anywhere around so they wouldn’t get harassed by her.)
So now I have two receipts and no package. I thought about going to the post office this morning to see if it’s there, but it’s probably already on the truck. If I just wait long enough at home, they’ll deliver it. Sometime. Before spring, I hope.