Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Saturday I mailed a package to my daughter. I bought a delivery confirmation receipt which would allow me to track it online. Last night, I learned that it had been delivered at 6:24 p.m. in a neighboring postal area, the zip code of which is one digit different from my daughter's.
I spent about an hour trying to communicate with a post office recording which offered no helpful options, but all roads led to Rome: The package had been delivered. Never mind that it was delivered to the wrong recipient in the wrong town. I got increasingly agitated and finally ended up telling the machine that I hoped it would do something to itself until it hurt. My husband raised an eyebrow but knew enough to stay off the battlefield. The recording, undaunted, told me that the office was not open at that hour. It sounded smug.
This morning, I called the post office which ostensibly delivered the package. The clerk said that no duplicate address to my daughter's existed in that zip code. I said I doubted that the occupant would have the same name in any case. He told me to call the post office branch where it was supposed to go. They were unimpressed with the gravity of the matter so I called my local post office, where I had mailed it. They said they couldn't do anything because it was out of their hands; the logic was indisputable.
I made all the rounds again, this time asking to speak to a supervisor. After I went through the entire saga for the third supervisor, she asked me if it had been delivered to my daughter.
Well, no, Dummy. That's why I'm calling. I didn't say that, though. I sucked it up and told her politely that it had not because I know all about honey and vinegar, even though diplomacy does not come naturally to me.
She suggested I call the delivery supervisor at the post office which routes mail to the other two zip codes, so I did. The gentleman told me to call back at 9:30 tomorrow morning because all the carriers were out. He didn't ask my daughter's name or address, which was not a good sign, so I stewed awhile and called back. This time I got someone who assured me that it couldn't have been delivered last night at 6:24 because they don't deliver mail at that hour. He also said that there was no way to find my package because they have no record of it.
I think my daughter would have liked it. It was beautifully wrapped. I have no idea who is enjoying her gift, which she was not expecting ~ we love surprises in my family ~ but I am sure that my blood pressure took a big hit over this.
It is frustrating that nobody will take responsibility. Instead, they all passed me around like a beach ball.
I fail to understand why there is so little competence anymore. Perhaps it's because there is so little caring. Life is hard for most people. They want to put in their hours, get paid and get out. The pride in craftsmanship that I was raised to revere is dead as a doornail, and we are all poorer for it.
I am by nature a gentle person, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I'm fantasizing, just a little, about letter bombs.