Every morning at about 10 o’clock I receive an email from the US Postal Service telling me what mail I can expect to arrive that day. I don’t recall asking for this service, I am perfectly fine waiting five hours to see what important items are delivered to me. It seems rather a foolish service, but don’t get me wrong, I support the Post Office, they deliver mail where no one else would go, like Nome, Alaska, although they do sometimes deliver by dog sled. My sister-in-law loves the post office (she served some years as a post mistress) and I dare not criticize the USPS for fear of her not sending me post cards when she travels here and there. Post cards, she says, are the best bargain in the USA. The current price is forty cents, so it might be true, although forty cents would also buy a box of Crackerjacks at the dollar store.
Yesterday I received notice that I would receive five somethings in my mailbox later in the day. I clicked my heels, which is not that easy these days. I was sure that one of my grandchildren had sent me a letter, or my sister-in-law had mailed me a post card, or I would get an early birthday card from AARP or one of the many hearing aid companies. I could hardly wait.
My first envelope held a supply of lovely address labels with the right address but the wrong name. They were free, but couldn’t I send them $10.00?
Secondly, I received an EXCLUSIVE seasonal offer. It was addressed to the Current Resident. Of course, that was me, but it seems that if it is EXCLUSIVE, they should have put my name on the envelope.
The City of Boise sent me a post card begging me to take an age-friendly survey, whatever the heck that is. I guess that means that I am old, and the city must be worried about my getting around. The problem is that I vote in a different city than Boise, so will they even read it? My thoughts are that Boise has too many cars for too few streets and suddenly a lot of rude drivers.
My next card was from a city council candidate who might have all the qualities of a Boy Scout (or Pinocchio). The card had a nice photo and his info looked good and says he “supports city services,” whatever that means, but unfortunately, he misspelled a word on his card, so now what? This English teacher hates misspelled words. Is it indicative of his abilities?
And, yes, I received my daily sales pitch on hearing aids. Yes, I wear hearing aids, but my goodness, don’t they ever stop? Each ad claims smaller, cheaper, and more efficient. All I want is my original set of ears with no devices. And no one does that.
That was yesterday’s snail mail, and I can hardly wait for today’s. In the meantime, I’ll view my email, hoping to receive something other than advertisements for ED drugs. Oh, happy day.
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