...at the post office, but it's a hard slog.

Monday when there was no mail for us at the old house I was heartened. Yesterday there was no mail at all, but that wasn't new. I've seen the postman come as late as 6:30 p.m.

Today it was warm and I was looking forward to getting home from work to open the windows before I emptied out a few more boxes.

Instead I spent 45 minutes going past the old house, finding our final electric bill in the mailbox, and going to the post office again to complain.

The clerk (a different one this time) was clearly perturbed and not only filled out a third change of address for me, but wrote a note to the carrier repeating the info and asking the carrier to see her. She also gave me the name of the supervisor and the hours he was at the PO and told me to call.

This isn't rocket science, guys. Heck, I moved from Warner Robins to Atlanta in 1988 and didn't have a whit of trouble forwarding my mail. I didn't have to go back to my old mailbox at the Cubbyhole or at the apartments. What in Sam Hill is going on?
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. . . . . noted and logged by Linda at 6:39:00 PM

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