Do you remember the day when your mail box was on your front porch? Or better yet, you had a slot in your front door and it just came shooting through? I remember being a kid and trying to catch it and then yelling, “THANK YOU!” back through the slot at our mail-carrier. He always smiled, laughed and shook his head at me. He told me once, that I was the only one to ever say thank-you and I had a very unique way of doing it. And my guess was that he at least preferred it over a barking dog.

I was musing over this yesterday as my friend Lori and I were hauling a giant tub, filled with 60 pounds of concrete, a post, and you guessed it – a mailbox out to the curb. Why would we do this, you ask? Well, let me tell you! (With a smile on my face, of course!)

A couple of weeks ago, we found out our mail was no longer going to be delivered. (We are the only house in the neighborhood right now, and we had a great mail-carrier who was bringing it to us – after the Post Office had hemmed and haw-ed over what to do with us… again, another crazy adventure in my life -but, that’s beside the point – it gets better…)

I called the Post Office in my sweet, sing-song voice but, unfortunately, spoke with someone who cared very little that I am without my mail and they proceeded to give me another number to call. So, I tried the next number. This time, I didn’t even get to explain… they hung up on me. By the third phone call, I had lost a little of my “nice guy” voice and I was greeted by someone who needs a little work on their manners. And I’m being generous here. I had witnesses to my side of the conversation and they were laughing – yes, laughing – because I was not allowed to finish one comment or sentence. Enter – my temper. I raised my voice (yes, I know, not a very nice thing to do) and said, “You have not allowed me to finish one thing I have tried to say – WILL YOU PLEASE LISTEN?!?!?!?!”

Let’s just say… things went downhill from there. And I felt the stress just oozing over the phone lines. I now understand where the phrase, “going postal” came from. I made a smart remark, “Isn’t it the Post Office’s job to deliver the mail?” I don’t think she liked me after that. I was informed that the Post Office didn’t have the time or resources to do door to door delivery. Okay… ?? In my mind, I’m thinking, “So…wow, how is everyone else getting their mail?”

At this point in time, I’m confused, aggravated and unsure of the next step. I’m given yet, another number to talk to another P.O. employee. I was less than enthusiastic about calling, but, dialed nonetheless.

“You need a mailbox.” She said – since the MBU thingies weren’t up yet in our neighborhood. (MBU – stands for Mail Box Units? Multiple Box Units? Mail But Undeliverable? I don’t know – I’m guessing… you try!) Anyway, we already had a mailbox – it was sitting on the front porch where they told me to put it months ago!

Yay! We would get mail!

Um, no.

That would be too hard for the mail person – they’d have to get out of their vehicle and walk up to the porch. (Wouldn’t they have to get out of their vehicle and walk up to the MBU? I know, I know – I’m thinking too hard. I need to be nice.)

“No, put it out on the sidewalk,” she said. Okay…? It can’t be put on a permanent post because they’ll be putting in the MBUs – so I put the mailbox out on the sidewalk. (Let me tell you how great this looked, and how many questions I received about the mailbox sitting in the middle of the sidewalk!)

Yay! Now… we’ll get mail…??

Um, no. Close, but, not quite.

“Put it on a temporary post, in a bucket, on the curb.”

Thus, Monday morning, Lori and I carrying out a tub filled with concrete, a post and a mailbox. A very nice-looking mailbox I might add. A little odd with the tub and concrete – but, nevertheless a nice-looking mailbox.

Now, if you can read between the lines, you know there’s more to the story — but, that would take up way too much space. So, you’re wondering… how does this story end?

I don’t know. I’m still waiting for my mail. 🙂