This is a follow-up to the post below.
This morning, as promised, shortly after the local post office opened, I was standing before the special place where one must stand to get â€œheld mail.â€ It is not manned by anyone; rather one must push a button for â€œservice.â€ (The section of the post office where the regular walk-up windows are is locked until 10:00 a.m.). The morning hours for â€œserviceâ€ at this window are 7:00 â€“ 9:00 a.m. Good thing I was there about 8:20.
I pushed the button, and a voice came from a speaker saying, â€œCan I help you?â€ Fortunately, I had mentally rehearsed a super-condensed version of the facts, as I knew I would not have anyoneâ€™s attention for very long. It sounded something like this: â€œMymailwasheldwhileIwasonvacation; it was supposedtobedeliveredonSaturday; itwasnâ€™tdeliveredthenanditstillhasnotbeendelivered,despitethreephonecallstothe800numberandonecalltothispostofficeyesterday!â€
After I made my run-on speech, there was no response; the speaker box was silent. I felt as if I were in Oz asking for an audience with the Wizard.
To my surprise, a person (the source of the voice) actually appeared and listened to my story.
â€œYou did this online?â€
â€œYes, I did. Apparently the communications sent to the local post office from the 800 number donâ€™t register here.â€
He said, in a very nice way, â€œItâ€™s better if you deal directly with the local post office. Who knows what kind of red tape they have there.â€ He then said, â€œYouâ€™ll have to talk to the Carrier Supervisor, but he wonâ€™t be here for another fifteen minutes. Would you like to wait, or do you want to call later?â€
I said, very calmly, â€œIâ€™ll wait. In fact, I am not leaving until I get my mail, or someone tells me exactly where it is and when it will be delivered.â€ I pointed out that I had already spoken by phone with a person who was identified to me as the â€œCarrier Supervisor,â€ and his name was â€œJim.â€
â€œNah, heâ€™s not The Carrier Supervisor. His name is ‘Tom’.â€
I asked, would he please tell â€œTomâ€ as soon as he arrives that I am waiting to see him. He assured me that he would. He then asked for my address, and wrote it on his hand with a ballpoint pen. Then he asked me my name. That, he didnâ€™t write on his hand, apparently having committed it to memory.
The promised fifteen minutes turned into twenty-five minutes, and the guy who was supposed to direct â€œTomâ€ to me, apparently took pity on me, because he appeared again and said, â€œIâ€™m going upstairs to check on your situation myself.â€ (I guess â€œTomâ€ plays loose with his hours.)
About four minutes later, he appeared with a large box full of mail. â€œHereâ€™s your mail. I went directly to the carrier [who obviously had not started on his route yet]; he knew all about it.â€
After a bit of questioning on my part, it seemed clear that the carrier was aware of the start date of the mail-hold, but didnâ€™t know of the end-date, or was given the wrong end date. The latter is more likely, because my new post office friend asked if I wanted my mail delivery resumed.
Did I want my mail delivery resumed? WTF? Itâ€™s difficult to imagine how anyone could have listened to me and concluded that I didnâ€™t wan my mail delivery resumed. It was an â€œAlice in Wonderlandâ€ moment.
Still, I was so happy to have a box of mail in my hand, I simply thanked my new post office friend and motored off to work.
Hereâ€™s the clincher: When I arrived home from work, there was a message on the answering machine with a timestamp of 4:41 p.m. â€œThis is the So and So Post Office. You made a complaint? You can call back at [gives phone number].â€ The monotone-speaking drone was obviously calling as a follow-up to my call to the 800 number made on WEDNESDAY!~ (I hadnâ€™t given the Thursday 800 Number Lady my phone number). Here it is Friday goddamned evening and this idiot is calling me based upon a call I made Wednesday morning.
One thing is for shit sure. Had I not gone to the post office myself today, there would have been no goddamned mail delivery again today.
I have no plans to return the monotone-speaking idiotâ€™s call. Iâ€™ve spent enough goddamned time on the phone trying to get my goddamned mail.
The next time we go away, I will personally deal with the mail carrier and follow-up by filling out the appropriate form at the local post office.
Then again, maybe Iâ€™ll just ask a friend to pick up my mail.