The Post Office Rant

I need to vent - again. It's about the US Postal Service - again. Feel free to skip this if you don't care for demonstrations of full-on, feet kicking, steam coming out the ears anger.

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Still here? OK, let's get started. Here's some back-story:

In June, 2004, Mrs. Wiggy and I bought a house in a historic district of Wilson, NC. Ours is a happy 1923 bungalow with a big porch and wood floors and high ceilings, just right for three neurotic cats and two loopy linoleum-eating dogs and a pair of escaped lunatics from parts elsewhere.

One of the first visitors to our abode was the postal carrier. We thought he was introducing himself - how nice! Instead, he handed us a form letter that informed us that the US Post Office required us to install a mailbox on the street, as opposed to the mailbox that was currently on our front porch. That type of delivery (porch) was going away, and the Post Office wanted to save time and energy by delivering to the street and not having to get out of their right-hand drive vehicles.

We were the only people on our block to be so required, but the letter carrier explained that sooner or later, all the residents of our street would be converted. As people sold their houses and moved out, new residents would have to do as we were required to do. Ah. Lovely.

So, it was raining when we moved in. And it kept raining for a few weeks after that. I didn't feel like digging a post hole in the mud and rain to put up a mailbox, so I waited for better weather. And we continued to get mail in our mailbox on the porch, so I figured it was no big deal to do it right away.

But I was wrong. We began to notice that none of the mail being delivered to our house was actually for us. Most of it was for the former owners of the house, some was for 'occupant' and some of it was simply misrouted mail that belonged to other people. Since we had just moved in, we assumed for awhile that our own mail had just not caught up with us yet, but after two weeks, we began to get suspicious.

We went to the Post Office and it turned out that they were holding our mail for us there. A huge stack of mail, it was. Some forwarded from our old address in New Mexico, some addressed to our new address in Wilson, but none of it delivered to us.

We were never told that the Post Office was not going to deliver our mail. We were getting mail, just not OUR mail, so we had no reason to believe that we the Post Office was holding our mail. If we hadn't finally gotten suspicious and gone and checked it ourselves, I suppose we'd still have a mountain of mail at the local Post Office. They'd have a special "Wigwam Jones Room" to hold it all. But apparently had no plans to tell us about it.

OK, so I built a mailbox out on the curb in a big hurry. One year later, we're still the only house on the block with a mailbox on the curb.

The thing is, sometimes we get our mail at the curb, and sometimes it is delivered to the box on the porch, so we have to check both places. Depends on how the carrier feels like delivering, I guess. Lovely system, don't you think?

And that brings us to today's rant.

Back in June, 2005, I bought a couple of antique cameras on eBay. Camera collecting is kind of a geek hobby of mine. A few weeks went by, and the packages didn't show up. I sent email to the people who had sold me the cameras and asked where they might be. Both sellers insisted that they had sent them to me right away, since I had paid them right away. Both had mailed them 'Priority Mail' and one had gone for the extra 'Delivery Confirmation' and had a response card back from the Post Office indicating that the package had been delivered. In neither case did I buy 'insurance' from the Post Office, just postage - the packages were worth maybe 25 dollars each. Insurance would have cost a couple of bucks per package, and there is a lot of rigmarole surrounding filing an insurance claim anyway.

Well, the packages never arrived. I had noticed, in recent days, that we had been receiving packages addressed to others at our house. We would either deliver them to the correct recipients ourselves, or give them back to the postal carrier. In one case, a package was delivered that was to the wrong name, wrong house number, and wrong street. I mean it was not even close to our address. And I handed it back to the carrier and she argued with me over it! I ended up saying, "Lady, this isn't a discussion about politics, this is about an address. This is not my address. End of story!" She very grudgingly took the package back from me.

So after about a month, I went to the Post Office and asked them where my packages might be. They looked around and could not find them - but they promised to have a word with the carrier. Not good enough, I opined. I didn't want a chastened carrier, I wanted my packages.

Well, the long and the short of it was that my packages were gone. No one knew where they might be. At least, no one was telling. I was asked by the Postmaster if I had purchased insurance on the packages.

I need to rant about buying insurance from the Post Office for a moment - a side-rant, if you will. I pay for postage to ensure that a letter or package arrives at the destination I select. I pay for insurance to indemnify me if the package arrives damaged or is stolen. BUT - I do not pay for insurance to make sure a letter or package arrives. That's what POSTAGE is for! Let me make sure I have this straight - if I buy postage, you promise to deliver my package. But, if I buy insurance, you REALLY, REALLY, promise to deliver it? You promise to TRY HARDER? No way! You postal scum, you are supposed to give me your maximum effort ALL THE TIME! So although I will buy insurance from time to time to protect myself from financial losses in the case of a package that arrives damaged and the dollar value is high, I will NOT buy insurance to make sure the Post Office does its damned job.

Let's say you buy a piece of furniture, pay for it, and the dealer offers to have it delivered to your house for a small fee. The appointed day arrives and your new couch or recliner doesn't. You call the dealer and he says, "Oh, well did you buy insurance? Sorry about that, I guess it's lost!" Would you find that acceptable? Of course not! So why do we listen to the Post Office when they say that to us? We should smack them with a brick every time some stupidity like that comes out of their pie-holes until they stop doing it.

Alrighty, then. Getting back to the main topic. Where was I? Oh yes, no packages, no satisfaction from the local Postmaster.

So, I got online and filed a complaint with the US Postal Service. More time went by. I worked on my lawn, mostly. Drank some beer. Complained a lot. Got older.

About a week ago, I got a post card from the Post Office in Washington. It said that my problem had been resolved, and asked 'How'd we do?' Well, that just pushed me right over the edge. My slim grip on sanity relaxed, and I spun around inside my house like a whirling dervish, bouncing off the walls and causing great destruction. I had one nerve left in my body and the US Postal Service was jumping up and down on it. "How did we do?" I'll tell you how you did, you nincompoops! I'll tell you how you did, you incompetent weenies! I'll tell you how you did, you societal rejects! Customer service is just something you saw in a slide show once, isn't it? Let a postal service employee come within one city block of me about now, and you'll think Vesuvius was a small bottom burp. You'll think Apocalypse Now is happening right in your face. You'll be crying for your mammas before I even get the full can of Woop-Ass opened. I'll pull your teeth out, make dentures of 'em and bite you with them! I will tie your ears in a knot over your head! Pain! Pain! ARGH, PAIN!

Then I had a beer and Mrs. Wiggy made me a lovely dinner of red beans and rice and I calmed right down. Didn't have anything to do with the 500mg of Thorazine she shot me up with, as far as I know.

Monday.

I saw the postal carrier trying to skulk away as I got home from work. I jumped out of my truck and headed towards him at a trot. Mrs. Wiggy saw me and headed inside to get the tranquilizer gun again. I caught up with the carrier and stopped him.

Hey, bub. I got a bone to pick with you!

What's the problem?

What's the problem? What's the problem? He might just as well have said "Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?"

I then proceeded to recite for him the entire massacree, in four-part hominy, with grits and ketchup to illustrate the important bits and a paragraph on the back describing what each one was to be used as evidence against him.

I also informed him that I was not going to stop asking for my packages. Not now, not ever. This was now a quest. A quest for my mail. I wanted my mail. And I was not going to stop filing complaints, calling people, and I'd even hop a train and Mister Wigwam would go to Washington if need be. I wanted my packages, dad nab it!

He went away shaking his head - another lunatic on his route, I'm sure he was thinking. Another crank. Another anti-government conspiracy freak with access to firearms and high-powered liquor who is well off his meds. Gosh, he knows me so well already!

Thursday.

I came home from work and discovered that Mrs. Wiggy had brought in two packages addressed to me. Both had June 24 postmarks. One was from South Carolina, the other from Virginia. Nearly two months to deliver two packages from one state away? Priority mail? With 'Delivery Confirmation' on one of them, yet? I could have kicked them from there to here in that much time. Both package labels were beginning to yellow with age, but otherwise, they appeared unmolested. Certainly they were uncontaminated with friendly prompt US Post Office service.

I opened the packages with trembling hands. Both cameras were in pristine condition, undamaged. Just as they had been packed and sent, lo, these two months ago.

Two months! Two months! Damned good job they weren't sea monkeys! Fine thing they weren't dry-iced meat from Omaha Steaks! Glad they weren't cuttings from Burpee Seed! Two months? Those packages were nearly ready for Social Security benefits by the time I got them! Two months!

Well, you can't imagine that I just let it drop. No, sir. Today at lunch, I went to the Post Office with the now-empty boxes in hand.

Here's what they told me...

It seems that we have had a temporary carrier for the past six months. That would explain why we get our mail at 7 p.m. and why we often get mail and packages intended for other people. Because they have a cheaper sort of idiot employed than the dregs of society that they usually hire. Apparently, most of them can't read addresses.

At some point in the past two months, our packages were delivered to a house one block over from ours. The person who lives there had even signed for the one with "Delivery Confirmation" on it, but had apparently then realized that the packages were not for them. So they put the packages on their front steps. And that's where they sat for nearly two months.

During this time, carriers came and went. All of them ignored the two packages left out on the porch. Not one of them bothered to examine the address labels and come to the conclusion that they were actually intended to be delivered a block over. A whole raft of temporary postal employees had passed by with a 'not my problem' attitude.

The carrier I had dressed down turns out to be our new 'real' carrier. He had taken my paddling to heart, as it were. He went and looked for my packages. He finally noticed them sitting on the porch of the house on the next street and delivered them to me.

Well, bully for him! I applaud him - he did the right thing. Why did it take two months for someone to figure this out? Why did the US Postal Service send me a postcard indicating that they'd sorted the problem and asking me how pleased I was when they had done NOTHING AT ALL? Who played "Lumpy" on 'Leave it to Beaver?' When am I going to calm down!

In the end, all is well. I have my cameras. I'm slowly settling down. I've just about used up my supply of righteous indignation, and I'm nearly out of waxing wroth, as well. Time to stock up. Maybe I'll buy something on eBay and have it shipped via the Post Office.

Smooches,

Wiggy