Feeling the Wrath of The (Mail) Man

I decided to pick up a spicy chicken sandwich at Jack in the Box on Tuesday night. The price: $5.40. I dug a crisp twenty out of my purse as well as 40 cents. I looked at the backside of the newest version of the 20 dollar bill and noted the little 20’s in different colors on the back of the bill. When I approached the window, I gave the teller the money as she handed me the food and drink. I waited. Nothing. The teller looked back at me and says, “That’s it.”

Uggghhh. The thought of all of this actually ran through my head right before this happened. I respond with, “I gave you a twenty.”

She disagrees and says that I gave her a 5, and after I requested to see it, she waves this limp $5 bill at me. It wasn’t even close in paper condition to the bill I gave her. She finally calls the manager over who asks me to pull to the side as they pull the drawer to count it.

I sat outside for about 10 minutes until the teller walks out. I thought, “OK, good, she’s bringing me my $15 of change,” but instead she waves that stupid limp $5 bill at me. She continues to say that I only gave her a $5 bill. Well, nothing left to do but get in the car in disgust. At least they didn’t spit on my sandwich. The bad part about this is that JitB is like the only place I go for a spicy chicken sandwich and an oreo cookie shake on occasion, and there is only one that is fairly close.

I did figure out, though, that from now on, I will write a little K on whatever large dollar bill I give the teller. That way, if they tell me I gave them something else, I will tell them I wrote a K on the bill I gave them. My electrologist suggested I write the last four of my social security or my driver’s license, but I think I’ll just stick with something simple.

The following evening, I pulled into the apartment parking lot to check my mail. I opened up the mailbox as I have for the past couple of weeks wondering if my new college diplomas have arrived…the ones with my new name on them. As I opened the box, I see this paperboard envelope bent in half in my mailbox. Instantly, I knew I’d been screwed by The (Mail) Man yet again. I pulled it out and, yep, it was from my college. On the bottom left of the front of the envelope it stated in the largest letters on the package, “DO NOT BEND.” My mail carrier decided that those letters obviously did not mean a thing and bent it in half to fit it in the apartment complex’s mailboxes.

I went over to the post office on Thursday and waited for about 30 minutes trying to talk to the mail carrier’s supervisor. They never showed and I was pissed, so I just stormed out. I sent an email to the online USPS site, and they said I should go to the post office to talk to them. The USPS basically won’t refund you if you did not insure it. Fuck. I mean, basically, what motivation do they have not to bend something if it isn’t insured. It’s job security for them because they know you’ll order it again. It’s not the $20 that I had to pay for the 2 diplomas, it’s the time it took to fill everything out, organize the name change paperwork, mail it, and wait for it to arrive. When I did finally open the package, the diplomas were bent, but I tried to straighten them out a bit. I think I will have to order them again, though, so that they will look a little more professional. Now, when they do come in, I’ll have to figure out how to remount them in the framing that my sister gave me a number of years ago. It’s kinda funny – when my sister offered to frame them, I was hesitant because in the back of my mind I knew that one day I would change the name on them. I just didn’t fully acknowledge it at that point.