|22 pieces of mail, and none of it mine|
"What the hell is wrong with that guy? Our mailbox was stuffed with other peoples mail!"
He tossed a large pile of mail on the dining room table. He was right, twenty two pieces of mail, all addressed to other people and none of them lived in our building.
"I don't know what to tell you Mark. That's Mr. O. I've tried to talk to the post office about him but they just get pissed off at me."
The biggest problem I have with the wrong mail being delivered to our house is what about my mail? Where is my mail going? I have had the lady one block over hand me mis-delivered letters and magazines as I walk past her house with Chandler, but she likes me. What about my neighbors who don't care about me, or maybe even hate me (for what I don't know. I'm very lovable.). Most of all, what about when I order things from Amazon? Did you know that Amazon carries almost everything you would ever need including... well let's just say private sorts of things. Anyway, Mark took it upon himself to drive over to the post office with the mail, to personally complain about our letter carrier. Thirty minutes later he returned home fuming.
"They gave me attitude, they told me that I need to calm down. I told them, fine, I'll just call your bosses, and I left."
So Mark is in the other room right now talking very loudly into the phone. I know what's going to happen, I know how this is all going to turn out. Nothing, nothing will happen, because I did the same thing a couple of years ago. I got the attitude, I got the telephone run around, and I got a call from some woman at the post office berating me for causing trouble. I also got even worse service from the spiteful Mr. O.