I have a paranoia about important mail passing through the USPS and it ending up in the hands of the wrong people (crazy roommates)….

The other day I went to the post office to check on the status of a hold I had put on my mail the previous Saturday. It was intended to be held until my new address was processed. I believed because I spoke to the branch manager himself. He guarenteed the orange card that he chucked into a scattered pile of cards would surely reach the mail carrier. Did I mention that she was coming back from vacation that Monday? I took a deep breath looked at him, at the orange card (dissolving into the pile of others), back at him, and smiled. Whatever…I left doubtful and irritated. So, I was there to follow up and of course, the carrier never got the memo. My mail was out for delivery! I was annoyed at first, but USPS has grown less efficient over the years I have noticed. I accepted that so, I left feeling hopeless and hungry.

I went across the street to grab some cheap Mexican food. As I
looked out the window watching the cars pass by I began to feel
anxious thinking about the possibilities of what psycho roomie would do
with my mail. When I finished I walked back to the post office
and asked a teller what Wendy’s route was. All he could tell me was
the streets that she crosses over and that her name is Wendy.
He doesn’t know what they do out on the street he said. Okay?…

I thanked the man and I rushed out of the office to find “Wendy”. I was
waiting for the bus knowing that I had about an hour and a half until
the normal delivery time of the Spencer Street mail and it was hot
outside. I was debating whether I walk and look for her or park it on
my stoop and hang out. The bus came momentarily and I was on the
lookout for the streets and some woman mail carrier.

Every street we passed there was no sign of a mail person. I got off the bus about to walk home with no sign of ‘Wendy’. Before acquiescing to the Mail Gods, I looked across the street and
I caught a glimpse of a gray hat turning the corner. I
sprinted down the street and around the corner yelling, “Wendyyy!” When I caught up to her I was panting, asking if she was
who I hoped I had found. Her eyes bugled with slight fear and question as if she were on tv. She hesitantly said yes and I explained that my name was Cicely and she responded, “Cicely Carew?” Who knew mail carriers would recognize our first names to match it with our last. For a second I felt like a celebrity totally unaware of her existence to others. ego : ) Annnyyway…

I was glad that she knew I wasn’t some wacko. I told her what had happened at the post office and that I wanted to get the mail directly from her to ensure its safety from the timebomb at the old spot(harsh, I know). She understood and said that she will hold anything with my name on it until the address change processed.

Long story short, I got the mail. Our journeys in life are so funny sometimes…