A long time ago, there was a riddle (joke?) that explained the vagaries of American jurisprudence.

Imagine approaching an intersection- one without a traffic light, a stop sign, or a yield sign. (I told you this was a long time ago.) Approaching in front of you is an ambulance with lights flashing, from your left a police car with sirens blaring, and on your right an approaching mail-coach. Which vehicle has the right of way?
Believe it or not, it was the US Mail coach. The US Government had arrogated to itself and its agencies the right of way in all situations.

But, now the US Postal Service is no longer a government agency. It is owned by- but supposedly a separate entity- from the government.  All this is simply an introduction to how the Postal Services operates today.

I’ve written how I used to travel with the mailman (there were really no women back then) on his route in my old neighborhood. Walking for hours along the streets and running to put mail in the mailbox attached next to everyone’s front doors.  (As opposed to today’s practice of “collective mail centers” for many neighborhoods.)

Or, when I moved to Charlottesville, Virginia, I rented a mail box. In the Barracks Road shopping center. When I did that, the storefront was considered a substation.  As such, it was only open from 8:30 to 5:00 PM Monday through Friday, with some sort of hours on Saturday. (I never visited it on a Saturday- my Shabat, so I don’t really recall what those rules were.)

Within two or three months, the substation had been elevated to a post office in its own right. Mostly because we were having some 400 to 700 letters and magazines delivered each week. (This more than doubled the postal volume.) More importantly from our point of view, that meant the Post Office would let us enter the facility any hour of the day, using our postal box key.

When I relocated the headquarters of the firm to Alexandria some 13 years later, I didn’t sign up for a post box. The possible locations weren’t convenient, and our office on Prince Street had a drop-through mail slot, so no mail could be swiped, as could happen if we had  a hanging mail box. (My home also had such a slot, for the same reasons.)

But, about a year later, we purchased our own headquarters- in an historic building on Princess Street. What I didn’t know (among many other things), that meant we could install a mail slot in our front door. (We also were getting some 2 to 3 times the stated amount of mail, to boot.)

However, we were the only building on the block. Next door, on the left, was a parking lot; on the right a parking lot, associated with the building that fronted on Columbus Street. With yet another parking lot on the opposite side of the street.

After a brief honeymoon, our mail deliveries went from at least daily to once or twice a week. Given our mail volume, that was extremely perplexing. And, when we complained to the US Postal Service manager, we were told that the mail carrier alleged we weren’t getting mail every day.  (Really!!!!)

Eventually, we escalated our complaints to the US Congress and Senate. And, with the intervention of Senator John Warner, it became clear that the carrier just didn’t feel it was his job to traverse our ‘one building street’ every day.  But instead of fixing the problem, the Postal Service finessed it by offering us a mail box (free) for many years.

Invariably, we receive other folks’ mail in our box. Which, of course, we return(ed). But, it causes us worry how often our mail may be diverted- never to return.  (Harbinger of what will transpire below, by the way.)

Or, despite the fact we’ve been paying for the box for the past decade- each year, we have to spend time convincing the Postal Service that Bicarbolyte is no longer the owner of the box, but Adjuvancy (which is the successor to the holding company that owned Bicarbolyte) is- and to have them stop refusing mail sent to us, claiming “addressee unknown”.

But, this newest problem was simply bizarre. We received a phone call from a client wanting to know why we were refusing his express mail. When we explained we have received no notice for such item, he provided us with the tracking number.

I personally went to the Post Office (the main one in Alexandria is the one we use) and searched for myself. No notice, no envelope or package. So, I went to the administrative office. And, explained the situation to the postal representative. Where that woman- NOT wearing a uniform or any identification- took about 9 minutes to copy down the tracking number, look it up on the computer (which we had already done- and seen that it said it was awaiting our pickup), demanded yet again we provide her the pick-up notice.  It took all my (little that I have) patience to remind  her that is why I was here; because there is no such notice.  To which response, she marched around the post office purportedly seeking the item.  (Or, maybe the notice?)

When she returned some ten minutes later, she wanted me to wait even longer so she could search further and make a few phone calls. (Call whom?  It was clear that someone recorded the package was already in THIS office.)

To which request I demurred, stating that it is tax season and we are busy- plus we have a few product development deadlines. She took my phone number (it took four tries to get it right)  and promised to call us up that day to tell us where the piece was and have it available for pickup.

I called our client to let him know the (non-) disposition. (To say he was mildly incredulous would be an understatement of the first order.)

Guess what- no phone call ever came. Oh, wait. Yes, there was- from our client. He was telling us that “Bill” called him and said he was mailing the package back because we didn’t pick it up. My client asked for one more day and “calmly” berated us to get our ducks in a row and pick up the package.

So, instead of our normal mail procedures, I went yet again to the Post Office to get that package (and our other mail.) I opened our box- which was filled completely, by the way- and searched each piece for the mail or for the notice. Nope, not there.

Back to the administrative office. With the same lady working. Who had the audacity to tell me it wasn’t her with whom I interfaced before. (I’m a parent. I’m well acquainted with the child I never fathered whose name is “NotMe”.)

I just told her to stuff it and get the package- NOW. Guess what another nine minutes of traipsing around. When I then demanded to see the Post Office Administrative Manager, she took off once again. (I was tempted to ring the button myself.)

Finally, the clerk returned with our envelope. Wanting me to sign for it. (That was a perfectly reasonable request.) Oh, but, wait!  She didn’t know how to use the scanner- and marched off again to get taught.

When she came back, i signed for the darned envelope.  And, then she wanted my ID. To which my response was I wanted hers as well. Which she refused to provide. And, as she attempted to walk away (I was taking her picture) WITH MY DAMNED PACKAGE, I made it clear that she better stop right there and hand it over. She made some lame statement to which my only possible retort was “Bull…”.

That got the Postal Manager from around the corner (who knew that’s where she was hiding), who took my package, and handed it to me.   Providing, at the same time, a lame apology.  (It was obvious she heard the entire episode.)

That apology was about as useful as Laura Ingraham’s televised apology.  You know the one where she used her religion, implying it was the charitable- and Christian- thing to do.  (Her words:  “On reflection, in the spirit of Holy Week [emphasis added], I apologize for any upset or hurt my tweet caused him or any of the brave victims of Parkland”)   As opposed to apologizing simply because Ms. Ingraham screwed up and honestly owed an apology to David Hogg.

Which is why I’m sharing this episode with you- and my elected representatives. I want this lady fired!