bring back the pony express

There’s a phone in my apartment lobby that allows me to buzz people in the main door. It rings directly through to my cell phone. Last Thursday, I got a call from my mailman letting me know he had a couple of packages for me. I told him I wasn’t home (because I was at work) and asked that he leave them with my apartment complex’s office. He said sure.

Today, I went in to sign my new lease (complaints to come) and check for my packages, except they weren’t there. The property manager told me to call the post office. That’s what I just did.

Turns out, my packages aren’t at the post office either, but if I’d like to call back and talk to my postman tomorrow morning around 8ish, he might know where they’re at. Where in the hell else might they be? Maybe in the backseat of his station wagon? Or laying in the drive thru at Arby’s?

I don’t even know what the hell the packages were, but now I’m pissed because I don’t have them. Someone probably could have just mailed me a box of poop, but I’ll never get it because nobody knows where it is. And for that, I’m sorry if I haven’t properly thanked you for a box of poop you may have sent me.

One Comment

  1. That has happened to me with paper airline tickets before, argh! (But it was UPS and not the post office. I’d like to burn UPS to the ground for that one, and some other stuff as well.)

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