I Got It! The Art of Asking

Oh, wait. This is my cat Loca...

Some of you might have seen my earlier post, Wallowing In Self-pity & Getting The Art of Asking by Amanda Palmer, which is sort of a Part One to this Blog. In that post, I wrote about how I had ppsted on Twitter, asking for The Art of Asking. Amanda Palmer herself retweeted the post. About four people responded on Twitter and I sent them my email address. Two responded, one only a few States away. One actually sent it.
It was “officially” delivered on 17 November 2015, but the notice was slipped under the wrong door. I found it two weeks later (why they never sent a second notice, or put the notice in my mailbox is a mystery. Although if you read the reviews for that post office it is not out of character for them.)

My "local" post office with the 1.4 rating.

Anyway, this Angel (I’m not sure if she wants me using her name, so I’ll just refer to her as my personal Angel) of a person, whom I’ve never met and didn’t even know on Twitter, sent the book again.
This time I asked for the tracking number and, according to the USPS (United States Postal Service), the package had been delivered at just after 2pm on Saturday 26 December 2015. The only problem was that we, my son and I, were home at the time. There was no buzz, no knock, no notice in the mailbox. Armed with the tracking number and the screenshot saying the book had been delivered, we went to the post office.

Um we were home at this time. No buzz, knock, or notice. Thanks, USPS.

Let me take a quick break to point out that there is a post office four blocks from my house, right down the street, no turns or anything. But for some insane and inexplicable reason, one must continue past that post office another eight or so blocks, then make a left for another four. And these are long blocks. You can take a bus ten blocks and walk the rest, or do a weird walk two blocks, take a train one stop, go to the opposite end of the train, then take a bus the next eight blocks… it’s ludicrous.

Anyways, we went to the post office. They said it wasn’t there. But we could check with The Main Guy there. After informing me the package had been left there and maybe someone made off with it, he offered to try calling my mailman (thus ensuring I will never ever get anything delivered again). As we waited, I started wondering what I should do. This kind, wonderful person had offered to help me get a book, sending it not once but twice, and now it was missing. I considered saying I had received it, but I really despise lying and liars but…
“He says he left it with the super,” The Guy said. Oh, crap. The super actually broke my mailbox lock a few years ago trying to steal my mail, and he steals mail from other people as well. I remember two packages he had accepted for me that were opened by the time I got them. The super had said they came that way, but the post office has a plastic bag that they seal around the package — it also has the USPS seal on it. “No, he gave it to the supers son.”
Now that was better. The supers son was in his 20’s and was a cool guy who was supposed to take over for his dad. I called then texted the supers son. “Did you receive a page for me on Saturday? It’s a book so it would be, er, book sized haha”.
By the time we got home 45 minutes later (it is a weird a circuitous route to get home), I hadn’t received an answer. We knocked on the supers door and, low and behold, there it was.
I got it!
And to the Angel who didn’t give up and sent it again,
Thank you
Thank you
Thank you

I got it!!!

Blessed Be,
D.K. Stevens


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