I am very happy.
Just got a call from my apartment complex…”Are you missing, like, a ton of mail?”
Since I moved I’ve stopped getting mail. It just wasn’t coming. I had filled out my change of address form a full month before I was leaving, like a good little tenant, and filled one out for my boyfriend as well, but after we moved we stopped getting mail.
I was patient at first.
And then I was getting worried. Bills weren’t getting paid, because I wasn’t being told what I owed, and of course no news is good news and I was spending bill money on cute t-shirts and shoes. Then I’d get random bills….credit cards getting cut off…putting a serious damper on significant other’s birthday… and the worst of it was, no one seemed to believe me. I didn’t know I had an outstanding balance because no one told me about it.
Bills and reminders aside, what I really missed was the fun part of the mail. Magazines…Pottery Barn…American Theatre…Jane…and then I started to fantasize about what I was missing…letters from long lost friends…random checks that the government owed me…nothing that I would normally have gotten anyway, but there’s something beautiful and old-timey about getting mail…
So I took action. I called the post office. They told me to call my carrier before she left in the morning. Although I felt a little intrusive, I took their advice. She said I was getting all my mail, as did the post office. The apartment complex said that if my mail was sitting around somewhere, they would have known about it. I started stalking my postal carrier. I’d stand outside my old mailbox asking her if there was anything for me. Luckily she was without her mace, as she didn’t seem to pleased to have me interrupt her route. Phone call after phone call led me to believe one thing:
No one was sending me mail anymore.
No one cared enough to send the very best. I was depressed. Sad. Lonely. I missed inserts and Details and, yes, pizza coupons.
So you can imagine how happy I was when my apartment complex called me today to tell me that the new tenants at my old apartment had finally gotten a mailbox key, and out poured two months of my mail.
I’m willing to forget that everyone that I spoke to lied to me in one way or another. I’m willing to forget that I am now $300 in debt from old bills I was never told about. I’m even willing to forgive the new tenants that took so damn long being responsible (I mean, who goes two months without a mailbox?).
I’m gonna go home and curl up with my Containers Plus catalog. I’m gonna roll around in my mail Indecent Proposal style. I’m gonna go buy some stamps.
I’m a happy puppy.
(23 July 98)side note: got home. found my mail. no cards or notes for me. seven, count ’em, seven cards for my boyfriend. he just had a birthday. i just had my credit card frozen. damn.
I like mail, too.