Last week, Friday, we didn't get mail. No big deal - sometimes we don't. Then we didn't again on Saturday. Wierd. Usually between our bill, junk mail, and magazines our little box is stuffed full.
No mail on Sunday or Monday due to the holiday.
We didn't check our mail on Tuesday because we both had to work and then went to see Wicked, and didn't get home until after 11pm, and really didn't care about mail.
When we checked it on Wednesday - no mail again.
I'm a little wierded out. One of two days I can understand - but really, this many? And what to do about it? Neither Dave nor I were home the times the post office was open. I figured it can't hurt to call them. Except that the internet is down at work on Thursday and I can't look up the number.
Internet is back on Friday and I look up the number and call. Tell them that I havn't gotten mail in a week which is very strange for us. They ask me our address and how long we've lived there. They tell me our carrier is #41 and I have to go into the Post Office saturday morning between 8am and 8:30am. (There goes sleeping in!)
I haul my ass out of bed this morning and walk the whole 90 seconds it takes me to get to the post office. This woman calls me up to the window to help me. I tell her the same thing - I called yesterday, haven't gotten mail in a week, and asked for carrier #41.
"SSIGGGGGGHHHHH. And WHY do you think you're not getting mail?"
"Uh - I really don't know. That's why I'm here." (Actually, 3 of the 7 people in our building moved out, and I figured that they screwed up who's mail to stop)
"SSSSIIGGGHHHH." Prints out a piece of reciept and hands it to me with a pen. I'm assuming that she wants my address, so I write it down. I ask her if she needs our last names as well. "Yeah!" Is the answer with an attitude.
She takes the paper and walks away.........
Comes back close to five minutes later with one of those post office clear boxes thingys.
"There is something wrong with your buzzer. The carrier can't get in." (For those of you not living in apartments - we have a security door downstairs that people who live here have a key for, but we have an intercom thingy that we can talk/listen downstairs and buzz in people we know. The mail people have a special key that lets them in as well.)
"Um, ok. Did they leave a note or something? Because I havn't seen anything."
"No. And until your landlord gets it fixed, you'll have to come down here and get your mail."
"Ok," I say, "I'll call my landlord this afternoon and tell them to fix it." (I keep both the office phone number and the 'fix-it' man's number in my cell phone.
"I suuuuppppose that they could put a note up there saying that it's broken"
"Thank you," I say politely, even though I want to say - "Gee, ya think, bitch? Maybe that would have been useful LAST WEEK!'
She's going through these big stacks of mail from our apartment checking against both our last names and our address. She starts talking to the other woman working there and starts missing my mail - she was going through cataloges and the second one in the stack was mine. I told her that as she was putting it back away. She takes it out and tosses it into the pile of our mail that she had been setting aside.
She hands me my mail, I thank her and head out. Looking through the mail there are 4 bills in there and one rebate check (We really could have used that cash this week!). I know that none of the bills are past due in just a week, but it still pisses me off.
Since I don't have any faith that they will put a note down there, I'm going to write one up and let my apartment-neighbors know that they have to head to the post office if they want their mail.