The Post Office can lick my center of gravity.
We live at the end of a half-mile dirt road. Locked mailboxes for everyone along the road are up at the point where it joins the pavement. There are 4 package lockers next to the mailboxes, so if you receive a package too large for your box, the mailman can put it in a locker and stick that locker’s key in your mailbox.
Sometimes, the package won’t fit in a locker. I also suspect that sometimes, putting the package in the locker is too much effort. On these occasions, the USPS puts a Failed Delivery slip in your mailbox telling you to haul your cookies 10 miles into town to pick up your package at the Main Street Post Office.
Wakko turned 3 last week. On Tuesday, I got a Failed Delivery notice for a package addressed to him from the Discovery Store — his Grandpa had ordered a gift online. Thursday, I went into the MSPO and presented the slip.
The clerk asked for ID. I had left it in my car. So I went back outside, got it, waited in line a few minutes, and presented the package slip with my ID.
PO: Your driver’s license address doesn’t match the package address.
Me: Yes, we’re living with my mother while she recovers from an illness. My license address is our house in town.
PO: Your name doesn’t match the name on the package. I assume that’s your “other half.”
Me: No, it’s my 3-year-old son. The package is his birthday present.
PO: Nothing on the package matches your ID. I can’t give it to you.
Me: The last name matches.
PO: That’s not good enough. I’m sure you’re the most honest person in the world, but I’d lose my job if I gave you this package.
Me: *blinks dumbfoundedly with rising ire*
PO: I guess your son is too young to sign a release.
Me: Ya think?
PO: You’re going to have to bring in his birth certificate in order for me to release this package to you.
I left before the tears of frustrated rage could manifest before this unworthy individual. I have no idea where the kids’ birth certificates even are — hell, they might be in storage. I got a “final notice” in the mailbox the following day saying that I have until this Saturday to claim the package before it’s returned to the sender.
Wish me luck as I tear through boxes tonight looking for government proof that I’m not trying to steal a dad-blasted toy from the Discovery Store via the Post Office. It’s enough to piss a person off.
