Fumbling the Keys

In college, there was nothing better than notification that you had a package waiting for you somewhere in the depths of the campus mailroom. Whether it was a surprise from home or you were quick to discover the glories of on-line shopping, a trip to the University Center was always made more enjoyable when you were able to find one of those yellow package slips in your mailbox.

(And besides, since Wendy the Sandwich Lady was only there freshmen year, couldn’t we all use another source of joy at the UC? God, I miss those 12-inch hoagies.)

While the Wendy analogy may not translate to other college campuses, the package slip methodology should. In order to actually turn that package slip into a package, one had to go around the corner to the mail desk, sign in, prove their identity, spin around in a circle three times, recite the Pledge of Allegiance, construct a miniature mail truck using only paper clips and twine, recite the Pledge of Allegiance backwards, promise the guy behind the desk he’d get 10% of all foodstuffs contained within said package, and say “please.”

Or at least that’s what we told freshmen during orientation.

All in all, in reality, it was an easy process. On birthdays and anytime I bought a DVD on the dime of the good folks at Echo.com, I could receive a package. It was incredibly easy, and in most cases, came with glee.

But then you enter the real world, and the real world manages to make the receiving of packages hell for the working professional.

Having lived in four different apartment complexes in 5 years, I’ve found that with each increase in quality, receiving a package is safer and more complex, but not necessarily easier. In the first place, packages would be left on your doorstep, and your chances of receiving of said package was directly proportional to how fast you got home after work. In the second place, they asked your neighbors to hang on to packages for you if you were not home. Not a bad idea, but this of course assumes 1) you know your neighbors and 2) speak the same language as them. In the third place, the leasing office held them, and you could pick up them during normal business hours. Too bad normal business hours were 1:00-1:15 on Tuesdays and Fridays.

Or at least it felt that way.

But now we live in Fairfax Corner. Nevermind our complex is called “Camden.” They’ve made getting a package EASY. On the first floor there’s a room with the entire complex’s mailboxes, built not unlike a college mail room. Everyone has a tiny key that gets them into tiny boxes. Within these boxes you can get tiny mail – but definitely not large packages. When you do get a package though, the mail fairy leaves a small key in your mailbox. This small key corresponds with a much bigger mailbox on the opposite wall. Combine the two, and You’ve Got Package.

This is how Katie explained it to me last night, when she picked up a very nice birthday gift from Mr. Andersen.

Of course, she used logic and smarts to put together that puzzle – no document or notice was given to explain the system. After all, yeah, I saw that key in the box last week, and just assumed, “Hey, it appears the mail guy left a key in here by accident. I guess I’ll just leave it until he finds it.” My ineptitude isn’t a big deal in this regard, as Katie came in to close this package receipt out. However, the very same thing happened in early September, and my course of action then may have totally punted the plan.

When I first saw a key in early September, I took it upstairs with me. No real reason why, just thought it was funny, perhaps YAB material. I threw it on my nightstand, and it sat there – until last night – when I realized, “Oh, God someone sent us a package a month ago, and I haven’t claimed it yet.”

Umm – it was gone.

If anyone tried to send me stuff in early September only to have it returned to sender, now you know why.