Monday, July 16, 2018

my mailbox

One of the first things I did, when moving into my new apartment, was march down the hall to the bank of mailboxes on the fourteenth floor. Good thing I did: the mailbox's door had been locked, leaving only the narrow flap through which to insert my meaty fingers to retrieve mail with great difficulty. A few days after completing my move, I went downstairs and told one of the lobby guards about my problem. He said he'd send someone up to take care of it. A week and a half went by, and nothing. I went down to the same lobby guard and complained about the situation. He said that no repair guy was coming, and I couldn't understand his explanation for why this was so. Frustrated, I remarked that "It would be nice if someone took care of this," and I stalked off. While it's possible to insert my fingers in through that flap, I can't get my hands all the way inside: they're simply too big. Any letters that landed on the far side of the mailbox would therefore be unreachable unless I brought along some tools, like kitchen tongs, or even a ruler to slip under the mail, to help me reach all the way to the back.

Then, just the other night, I tested the mailbox door again and, mirabile dictu, the thing opened like a charm! I went downstairs and asked the lobby guard what happened, and he proudly said, "I opened it for you!" The guy is normally very friendly, so I didn't yell at him about why he had waited so fucking long to do something he could have done almost two goddamn weeks ago. I'm simply thankful I can now access my mailbox like a normal person, but I'm left wondering why the mailbox had been locked in the first place. Very odd.

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