Tag Archive | mail

The Shape of Panic

Seal of the Internal Revenue Service

Seal of the Internal Revenue Service, Image via Wikipedia

What? Two posts in one day?  Cori, are you feeling okay?

Ahem.

Upon giving myself a few extra minutes to get to the bus stop, I stopped and checked my mail.  This has become a regular thing since starting school.   I think I must be confusing the hell out of the mail-lady.

Anyway, upon sorting through the flyers, advertisements, postcards from local politicians who don’t realize that sending me that stuff makes me less likely to vote for them,  and bills (seriously, what’s with all the bills?  I paid for electricity like a month ago) I found this:

 

Do. Not. Want. Also: I'm really bad at opening envelopes.

 

Cue the hasty exit of any sense of calmness and rationality.

As I was waiting for the bus, I left the mail in the mailbox, with the plan of picking it up on the way back from school.  And, for some reason, (crazy, huh) I couldn’t stop thinking about this letter from the IRS.

Why were they sending me a letter?  It’s not a check, it’s a letter.  What do they want?  This could be really bad.  But, if it was really bad, it would have been a certified letter, or someone would have come and knocked on my door in person, right?  That’s what happens on TV and in the movies, right?  They just sent me a check for $37.  Do they want their $37 back?  I already spent it.  Okay, so it wouldn’t be hard to find another $37… and so on and so forth.

Finally (I missed the bus I wanted to get on, but that’s okay because it was running early, so I wasn’t late for class or anything)  I went back to the mailbox and pulled out the letter.  I figured if I was going to be freaking out, I might as well see if there was something worth freaking out over.  It could be nothing after all.  Never mind that even when it’s nothing, in my head, it’s never nothing.

Upon opening the envelope, I discovered this:

So, instead of including a note in envelope with the check for $37, they sent me another piece of mail, telling me that they sent me a check for $37.  Bureaucracy, folks.

How much trouble would I get in for “liberating” the globe mallow growing in the post office lawn?

And why do I have a package from Spain?

When I checked the mail yesterday (in other news, I checked the mail yesterday) I found a pick-up slip for a package.  I’m expecting a book, so I thought that’s what it was for, and was a little miffed that the mail carrier didn’t just put it in one of the bigger boxes and leave me a key.  The date on it was July 1st, which seemed a little soon to receive the book–it was only a day or two after I ordered it, but, perhaps the Amazon 3rd party seller was on the ball.

When I got to the post office, and after hearing boxes fall at least three times in the back room, the clerk came out with this:

Yeah, I don’t think that’s my book.

While he was processing the package, I noticed it was from Spain.

I don’t know anybody in Spain.

Well, anybody who’d send me a package.  (Lopes, I’d be open to a package from Spain if you’d be willing to send it to me)

That’s neither the name or the city of the one guy I know in Spain.

I signed for it, thinking it might be for my roommate.  It’s not her name on the label, but what I call her isn’t her name.  She’s from Taiwan, and I refer to her by her American name.  Perhaps she has a Spanish name, too.

But then I realized that it was postmarked before she moved in.

So…yeah.  I wish I hadn’t signed for it now.  I don’t know what to do.

I’ll ask the roommate if she knows anything about it, and, I guess if when she doesn’t I get to take it back to the post office and explain why I signed for it when it clearly doesn’t belong at my house, despite having my address on it.   That’ll be fun.

So, this mysterious box, that’s passed through customs is sitting in the middle of my living room, and will likely go back to the post office unopened.

I don’t know what’s going to happen to it from there.  I mean it’s been from Malaga, to Madrid, to New York, to Orem, and from there, who knows…

The poor little guy just needs a home.  Just not my home.  The home of the people on the address label who don’t live at my house.

Edit: oh, this is globe mallow: This particular one is growing in the Leamington cemetery, not the Orem Post Office lawn.  It’s my favorite local wildflower, and I’ve seen it sold as a xeriscaping plant, but never growing as a weed before.

I probably don’t have enough sunlight to keep it alive, anyway.

Edit #2:

The Mystery of the Spanish Package will officially remain unsolved.  The roommate, as predicted, didn’t know anything about it, so I took it back to the post office.  It’s on it’s way back to Spain.

I’m too much like my dad.  Mom or Sis would have had it open before they left the Post Office parking lot.

I know it’s a long shot, but if the D. Antonio from Malaga, Spain who sent a package to someone with the same last name in Orem, Utah, The United States, reads this, can you please let me know what was in it?  Thanks.

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