nancy drew and the case of the missing magazine
i have a love/hate relationship with my post office. love/hate isn't the right phrase. i basically just hate them but have to be nice because, otherwise, i'm afraid they'll start tossing the little mail that does, in fact, reach my mailbox. it's a hate/obligatory kindness relationship i guess.
so for years i've been getting the new yorker. and for years, it's gotten to me monday. until i moved way the hell uptown, outside the upper west side jewish neighborhood that is literally half the uppity new yorker's subscription base. in washington heights, i've been getting it pretty regularly on tuesday. never monday. but that's fine, i can live with that.
but for the last three weeks i've gotten it on thursday. and last week it actually didn't come until friday. something has to be done.
i call my post office early monday morning. i find out my mail lady's name is ms. carillo. i speak with ms. carillo, asking what the problem might be and who i should talk to to make sure my magazine is reaching me earlier. she claims she gets it out the minute it gets into the office but she puts her manager on the phone. the manager has the same story, "it's not us. call the magazine, they might have the wrong address." confused as to how they'd have the wrong address when i'm looking at a correct mailing label on the cover of my last issue, i back off and call the new yorker. the customer service woman says she's going to mail me a form that i have to take to the post office and then they'll start tracking my magazine to find out exactly when it leaves and arrives where.
i get home monday and, wouldn't you know it, for maybe the second time in over a year, my new yorker is in the mailbox!
after all this time all ms. carillo wanted, apparently, was a little personal attention.