Hostage
In my neighborhood there are no individual mailboxes. You have to walk to the end of the street to a community mailbox. I have no idea WHY it is like this, but it is. I am not a fan. I don’t mind the walk down there for the most part, but really, how hard is it to let everyone have a mailbox? The deed restrictions in this place are ridiculous.
Anyhoo.
Everyone gets a key to their box. When we moved we inherited roughly 7 mailbox keys. I don’t know why. At this point it doesn’t really matter because NONE OF THEM ARE WORKING.
I have three or four days of mail being held hostage down the street and I’m kinda at my last raw nerve about this. Finally last night I made Husband head down there and try. No luck. So today I was all set to wake up and call the post office to figure out how the hell I rescue some letters, valentines and my precious magazines from that wretched box.
(The bills can stay there. I don’t like them.)
I called at 8:30a. Surely they’d be open by then, right?
Nope.
Googled our local US post office. They open at 9:00a. Okay, I’ll call back.
No answer.
I called again. If I’m annoying enough they’ll answer, right?
Nope.
I called again. Pissed.
Then Leah walked in and I realized she was home from school today because it was President’s Day. When there is no mail.
Brilliant.






We have those community mailboxes in my neighborhood. I HATE it with 10 types of hatred. Also, dealing with the USPS is a special form of torture.
We regularly have post held up at the sorting office (the local post office depot) – mainly because the postal staff are too lazy to deliver things.