...and may the fleas of a thousand camels infest your letter carrier's skivvies.
I have lived in this new building for almost six months now, and still, no mail delivery. I was so p.o.'d about it last week, I went to my MP's office. This morning, shortly before nine o'clock, I was awakened by a phone call from Canada Post (hey, I work until 11:30 tonight and have to be back in at 9:30 tomorrow morning, so I was still sleeping, okay?). This -- ahem -- gentleman tells me that he was at the building this morning, and still won't approve mail delivery, because the parking lot isn't paved yet. He goes on and on, telling me how under new legislation, if the letter carrier gets hurt, he could be sued, blah blah blah. I remind him that I have been living here for almost six months, and know of no one who has been hurt on the property, and how his answer is unacceptable. He replies that until the parking lot is paved or someone above him orders him to start delivery, it won't happen.
Good gawd, one of my neighbours on the ground floor uses a walker, and my next-door neighbour walks with a cane because of bad knees, and we all get into and out of the building fine. Mr. Canada Post A-hole says it's dangerous for a letter carrier to carry trays of mail into the building. TRAYS OF MAIL?!? There are twenty apartments in the entire building!
What's worse is that we don't simply have to go to the Shoppers Drug Mart about a kilometre away to get our mail. Because of the postal code we're in, we have to go to the Orleans post office, which is about five kilometres away.
I do agree with Mr. A-hole that it's about time the parking lot was paved. The tenants have been bitching to the landlord about that. In fact, I have left a message for the building manager this morning, after talking to Mr. A-hole. Regardless, I refuse to accept claims that it is unsafe for a poor little letter carrier.
The Canada Post attitude is stereotype government/crown corporation arrogance. Competition -- as impractical a concept as that is -- would certainly pull a few heads out of Canada Post arses.
In the meantime, I have now vented, and feel better for it. BUT I'M STILL NOT GETTING MY F**KING MAIL DELIVERED!
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If you're pining for your daily stack of flyers, credit card invitations and Reader's Digest contests you may have already won, please feel free to come and have my mail. I'll give you the key to my mailbox and you can knock yourself out. And, if you're keen on taking over my chores, the cat's litter box also needs cleaning out twice a day.
I might as well marry you.
Now, if the mail carrier was wearing boots like the Urban Pedestrian's, I could see where it might be a little dangerous.
On the other hand, she could start her own service, and agree to deliver to places like yours, and make a decent living from it. You could call it U.P.S., or something. It's got a nice ring to it.
My secret desire has always been to be a mail carrier -- it fits in so well with an urban pedestrian lifestyle and I'd get to peer into people's mail slots and look at their furniture legs and tease their dogs and I could hold back bills of the people I don't like until the final notice comes in and on rainy or snowy or cold days I could just stay home and sleep in like Newman.... ah the bittersweet poignancy of unfulfilled dreams...
UPDATE! UPDATE!
I made my weekly trek to the post office today, and the poor guy working at the counter sheepishly handed me one piece of mail, and advised me to check my mailbox at home. The regular carrier was off yesterday, and the temp actually delivered our mail! I didn't have to say a thing: his sheepish look said it all.
Hopefully, this will all be resolved this week. The parking lot is, I understand, being paved in the morning.
To close, I'll resurrect an old joke that I used to remind my Aunt Nadine of, when she worked at the post office in Cochrane, Ontario: Why does it cost 52 cents to mail a letter? Two cents for delivery, 50 cents for storage. HAR HAR HAR! Aunt Nadine would threaten to send the gorilla who jumps up and down on packages after me.
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