The next morning, the plan was to get breakfast and leave for the airport no later than 12:30. We had six body bag size suitcases to check. We needed all of this luggage because our stuff was now in crates to be put on a ship. We would not see it for months. We packed as much as we could had to take on the plane. We also needed to get wheel chair assistance for Matt.
Our flight was scheduled to leave at 2:45 p.m. I checked my email as part of my morning routine. I found a Daily Notice from the Post Office alerting me that mail would be delivered that day. This was odd. Matt had done a change of address for me. I shouldn’t be getting mail. We tried to figure out what went wrong. We called the local Post Office and they had no record of the change of address request. I called the national customer service number and all they wanted was a change of address confirmation number, which I did not have. They could not determine if I had changed my address without that number. I asked if I could just take care of it over the phone and the answer was a firm “no.” Their policy is that a change of address has to be done by application in person or by mail.
Matt and I went through our emails again and there it was. In my overwhelmed state, I had missed and email from USPS. They were holding my change of address request until I went to a Post Office and personally verified it. I have no idea why but we suspect that since Matt took care of it and paid for it, an alarm of some sort was triggered.
It was 11 a.m. Our flight was leaving at 2:45. How could I get to a Post Office? I called USPS and begged to get it done over the phone. They insisted that the only way I could change my address was to show up in person at a Post Office to confirm the change. Customer service said that any Post Office would do.
We looked on-line and found a Post Office that was a ten-minute walk from the hotel. I put on my shoes and headed out. I race walked down the street willing myself to go as fast as I could. But I could not find this Post Office. The address made no sense. I turned to Google maps and discovered the office was inside of an old shopping mall. I finally found it only to be greeted by the 2022 winner of the craziest Post Office employee in the U.S. She was alone behind a counter that she had rigged up with cardboard in a way that seemed to be intended to serve as protection from the COVID masses.
When I told her I was there to verify my change of address, she insisted she had never had of such a request and that she did not know what I was talking about. I asked her to read the email from USPS, but she refused. I was pissed so I started reading it to her aloud. She practically stuck her fingers in her ears. She instructed me to call her supervisor. I refused. I pleaded. “I have to catch a plane. You understand that, don’t you?” Her response, “So.” I tried every way I could to get her to help me. Finally, I said, “Give me the fucking number.” At that, she ran away, through an “Authorized Personnel Only” door and locked it.
I cussed all the way back to the hotel. By this time, I had had no breakfast and no caffeine. It was getting on to noon. We needed to be at the airport at 12:45 p.m. I had to get to a Post Office that was staffed by a sane person.
We checked out and headed for the next closest Post Office. At that stop, the clerk gave me the address of the “main” Post Office, the only place that could deal with a change of address verification. So much for “any post office can take care of it.” Why is customer service so bad? We drove further away from the airport. At this point it was 12:45. I walked to the window and told the clerk I was going to miss my flight if she could not help me. She knew what do and took care of it in one minute. But it was still another ten minutes gone.
When I got into the car, I burst into tears. The pressure was just too much. I was bawling. Hysterical or not, we had to get to the airport. I drove and blew my nose at the same time.
The next problem was our rental car. It needed to be returned to an off-site location. We had planned for me to drop Matt off with the bags, I would return the car and take the shuttle back. There was absolutely no time for any of that. Matt called Avis and explained that we were running so late, we did not have time to take the car anywhere other than the airport. We had to off load the luggage and check-in. We only had an hour. Avis agreed we could leave the car in a parking garage.
I pulled up to the departure area and tracked down a porter. He agreed to help Matt with the six body bags while I went off to park the car. I thought that perhaps a rental company would let me stow the car there for Avis to fetch. No way. More time wasted. I finally went into the daily parking garage, left the ticket and the keys in the car and ran to the check-in counter. There was Matt, the porter and the agent waiting for me. The luggage was way overweight, and we had to pay. But whatever. We had 45 minutes to get through security and to the gate.
Matt was in a wheelchair and we needed an escort to get us through the security checkpoint quickly. Of course, the escort had forgotten her badge and had to run back to the break room to get it. More waiting. Clock ticking. We finally got through security and went as fast as we could to the gate. They were holding the door for us. We made it with 5 minutes to spare. Whew!
A Yank Among the Kiwis 