This is a story about the United States Postal Service.

Be forewarned that this is a true story and will, hopefully, catch the attention of someone with the ability to enact change in this dysfunctional government entity. But…who am I kidding? They could care less. Nonetheless, I’m posting this. Sometimes venting is all that’s left when faced with dishonesty and stupidity.

So…

I expected a package to be delivered today. As usual, I made sure I was home and available to answer the door when the Priority Mail Express parcel showed up.

The hours passed. I kept checking the tracking information online. Toward the end of the day, I was checking it every few minutes, because there have been several occasions in the past when the mail carrier has outright lied and claimed he tried to deliver a package, but no one was home. I’ve complained repeatedly about this situation, which amounts to thievery on the part of the USPS. Why pay for their special services that ensure a package will arrive when their carriers lie about attempting to provide the service for which you paid?

So between one minute and the next, I saw the notice pop up that delivery had been attempted, but no one was home.

Livid, I went out to the street, found the Failed Delivery notice in my box, and stood in the pouring rain waiting for the mail carrier to come by on his return journey.

I should mention I live on a dead end street. He had no choice but to return the way he’d come.

After about 15 minutes, I saw the little, white mail truck headed my way.

I stepped out into the street and waved…displaying the Failed Delivery notice prominently.

He slowed.

He saw.

He hit the gas and nearly ran me down.

I screamed as he raced by, almost clipping me.

Shaking, I returned to my computer and lodged a complaint which mentioned legal action and police involvement.

Then, I followed the instructions and called the phone number on the failed delivery notice to request ‘Redelivery.’ (An impossibility, since no one attempted to deliver anything the first time.) After half an hour of laborious data entry over the phone, I reached the end of the process. The automated voice had verified my tracking number, my phone number, my address, the service I purchased for delivery.

At the very end, it asked for my name.

I gave it. Clearly. Slowly.

Before hanging up on me, the voice said “I’m sorry. There seems to be a problem.”

At last the USPS and I agree on something.