The Mail Box Saga
In Belgium, there seems to be a standard way to deal with apartment mail boxes. When I arrived, there was a number of slots to one side of the door, and some with little bits of paper stickytaped next to them with the person’s full name and their apartment number. So I followed suit, choosing the 8th mailbox down, took the key to it, and my boss’s wife wrote out a lovely lettered version of my name and the apartment number next to it, which we stickytaped next to the slot. This worked out just fine - I received my mail, I was able to get to it, noone really bothered me, the postman even seemed to have a very patient attitude at attempting to squish woolly packages as well as he could into the slot. Everyone else followed suit, names, apartment numbers, sticky tape.
Today I came home and found a horrifying sight! Not only had all the names and stickytape gone but a professional looking numbered piece of wood had been attached to the mailbox wall, with the numbers going from 1-12 down the mailboxes. I opened my mailbox (corresponding to #8, which is not my apartment number) as usual and retrieved my copy of Snow Leopard (thanks Chuck!) and a notice to pick something else up from the post office (I’m not actually sure what this is), and wondered what would happen now. I thought, well, since there is now a number next to each mailbox, and no stickytaped names, perhaps I should be good and return the key to the 8th down mailbox lock and hope that the person who has the key for my mailbox will return mine!
Of course, I suspect that until I can get the key to my mailbox that it could be annoying to retrieve my own mail. Fortunately I have slender hands.
Mirrored from liedra dot net.