Becky Says...

September 2004

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September 7

In the mail was an ad from an attorney, who wanted to be hired to defend a man who had received a traffic ticket. Aside from the fact that I thought the ad was tacky in the extreme, I objected to it having been delivered to me in the first place. To the best of my knowledge, there isn't a man living in this apartment. And since it's a small apartment, I think I'd have noticed.

That's not the oddest experience I've had with incorrect mail, though. The oddest happened during the first year I lived here. At the time, the Post Office made a big deal about how we residents should label our mailboxes, and mine was duly done. Only I kept getting mail for someone I had never heard of, again a male. Since it wasn't really a problem for me, I just kept putting it in the outgoing pile, noting that it wasn't for this apartment.

Then came a morning when I had the chance to sleep late. But the phone rang at some unholy hour. The caller was the secretary at my church, wanting to know if I had moved. I believe I allowed as to how I had moved across the room to answer the phone, but not otherwise, and why was she asking?

It seems that a piece of mail sent to me from the church had been returned, with a stamped message announcing that the person to whom the mail was addressed (that would be me) had moved and left no forwarding address. After assuring her that I had not gone anywhere nor had I any plans to do so, I was wide enough awake that I knew trying to go back to sleep would be useless. I was not happy about this.

The morning went on, and when I knew the mail had come, I went out to check mine. You guessed it: there was another letter for the man who didn't live here. I was still righteously annoyed over having been awakened to deal with a Post Office mistake, so I decided the Post Office needed to understand clearly that this man did not live with me, but that indeed I did still live here. I came back in my apartment and got my handbag, then proceeded to go to the Post Office, with the man's letter in my hand.

I was polite, but firm. I told the clerk why I was there, including losing the sleep. I think the clerk took pity on me. Something worked, anyway. I never got any more mail addressed to that man. And to the best of my knowledge, the Post Office didn't tell anyone else that I had moved.

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I have some invitations to share for Gmail. Since it's still in beta testing, the only way to get an account is to be invited. If you'd like one, let me know.

Text © copyright 2000-2004 Becky