Going Postal

A simple request by my new tenants, "Could we have a separate mail box?" Understandable that they wouldn't want me pawing through their mail everyday as I retrieved mine. For eighteen years I have had one giant mail box that all the apartments used, and I have to admit, I like seeing what my tenants are getting. It has given me a heads up on at least one occasion that a certain tenant was preparing to leave us. It also lets me see when they get late notices on car payments, and credit cards. And then there was the tenant who got weird underwear delivered by mail all the time.

So last Thursday I went to the Home Depot and bought another mail box. I was just about to install it next to the existing one when our mail carrier came by.
"Hey, I'm putting up another mail box so that each address on the building has their own box."
"No, not permitted. You must get permission. I say what mail box you have."
Did I mention that we have a Chinese mail man who can barely speak English, and I suspect can't hardly read it as well? He also parks his truck under a tree in the church parking lot and takes two hour lunches. I know this because I see him as I walk around the block to deliver the mail to my neighbors that was mistakenly put in my mail box. Fine, I thought, I'll just call the post office and clear this all up.

"You want to do what?"
"Put up a second mail box. We have two addresses on this building, and I want each address to have a separate mail box."
"Okay, hold on."
Fifteen minutes later the same guy picks up the phone again.
"It shows that you have only one address there. You can only have one box."
"No, I have two address on my building, two electric meters, two water meters, and you have been delivering mail addressed to ##09 and ##07 since the place was built in 1960."
"Uhhh, let me go back into the records room and look again."
It is refreshing to know that our post office has a 'records room', and hasn't entered the twentieth century yet. When the guy came back from the 'records room' he told me that I would have to call back on Monday when the Post Master would be in.

Well that all happened last week. Yesterday, Monday, I called again.
"What? We don't have a Post Master here. I'm the supervisor, waddaya want?"
I again went through the whole story.
"I'll have to take your number and have Donna call back. She handles those things."
"Where is Donna now?" I asked.
"Oh, she's off today."