Our mail service is reliably bad here in Shaker Heights. Our neighbors often make rounds after the carrier to exchange mail to the correct home and it is never handled with care. My father once sent me a package of blueberry preserves that were a cobbler by the time I opened the box, so when the carrier left a little pink card, it was accompanied by a little package of dread in my heart.
Satu of course was elated with the sense of possibility. She loves any surprise, but a gift in the mail is one of those rare, wonderful things that makes life worth living. What could it be?? Her auntie had unfortunately just guessed at the postage, so the Post Office was going to hold the package for ransom until I showed up with a sweaty dollar bill and some change and stood in their pre-Christmas line for an hour.
Presents are important, so I agreed to embark on this hero's journey for my love, but even before I left home, I suspected this would not be a simple errand. The post office that is closest to us is, of course, not the one on the card, but like all government buildings it is set up to create chaos. The entrance is set up at an angle to the intersection so that one instinctively goes in the exit before realizing that an angry hoard of drivers around the corner will be coming at you, swerving and giving you the finger. Once inside the building, that was a mile from my home, I turned over the little pink card and discovered the address to a post office a few miles away.
I love Satu and want to see her smile and enjoy her surprise, and more than that, I hate the crushing weight of her disappointment, so I soon found myself entering the exit only drive of a second post office. I still had an hour before I had to leave for work, so I cued up behind a VERY old gentleman who's wife had sent him out for a book of stamps (on December 21st!!!). I guess that's how you get to be a 90 year old bald guy with translucent spotty skin and still be married. This little observation confirmed for me that I was making a worthy sacrifice for the love of my life. Ahead of me were two people trying to figure out passports and many sending off Christmas offerings to their families. One very pissy looking broad was sending a package of M&Ms and Skittles to some folks overseas. A little feat of kindness that would cost her much more than the price of the candy.
When it was finally my turn, the very tired looking woman called me over and took my pink card and ball of money. She disappeared into the back for 10 minutes and then emerged saying she had no luck finding the package, but had handed the card off to one of the guys in the back who would locate it for me. I could see only his feet through the window as he shuffled very slowly from shelf to shelf. I was directed to wait at the end of the counter for the man who would never emerge.
I had to tell my wife that I had failed to return with her package. She assumed that this is because I don't truly love her enough and reminded me how often she does nice things for me. This is true, and I feel lucky, but I think we both knew that the post office was too chaotic for me to have even a remote chance at success.
This Christmas, I wish for two things. 1. The miraculous recovery of my wife's gift so that she will somehow realize that I loved her all along and 2. to be looking at a future where my wife will send my old stooped, wrinkled butt out in the cold to bring back a book of stamps.
