Puppy Parcel

Several days ago we heard from Bangkok the story of a man—obviously not the brightest guy in town—attempting to smuggle 255 animals onto an airplane. But now recent news from Minneapolis is certainly enough to remind us that we have our share of stoopid people, and that sometimes they too get their hands on animals.

Wackos now and then get the notion that a well-wrapped box and a don’t tell attitude are enough to make everything come out all right. Post office workers face some nasty and smelly dilemmas on occasion. One postal clerk tells of smelly boxes that turned out to be frozen skunks. Another describes dead fish in one box and a large wheel of rotten cheese in another. Going back a few years, postal clerk Miss Daisy James reported in the August 7, 1895 New York Times that she regularly found dead birds and animals addressed to taxidermists, boxes with dead rats and mice, and on many occasions soiled handkerchiefs addressed to young ladies.

But then we have Mrs Stacey Champion (an apt name) in Minneapolis, who on January 25 attempted to mail a four month old puppy to Georgia.

First, remembering that the puppy would surely get thirsty, Mrs Champion kindly put a bottle of water in with the dog—a sealed bottle of water. Then, realizing that the dog would need air, she punched some air holes in the box, but in sealing the box wound tape over all the air holes. Next stop the post office where she told the postal clerk that the box contained a toy robot for her son’s birthday, not to worry if it made any noise. A son’s birthday present? After a flight from Minneapolis to Georgia in a cargo hold 40,000 feet up in the air and 40° below zero is there any doubt—even to a lamppost—what the son would have found in his birthday box from mommy?

Cited for misdemeanor animal cruelty, now Mrs Champion wants her $22 mailing fee and the puppy returned to her, saying to the hearing officer, “Your honor, I was deprived of my son receiving his gift for his birthday.” The officer asked why she sent a puppy in the mail and she snapped, “I ship and they deliver!”

Leave it to me and I would put Mrs Champion and her case records in a big and well-taped cardboard box (with air holes) and mail it to Judge Judy.

Post Office Blues

The mail system here in New Smyrna Beach brings to mind scenes from the classic Bukowski novel, Post Office. Some of the book’s characters left Los Angeles and now work in NSB, I believe. For the first ten or twelve days I was here, there was no incoming mail, and I never laid eyes on a mailman or woman.

Email is fine, but in some areas we still depend upon the postal services for particular un-emailable letters or forms. With my recent geographic shift, it’s natural that the postal systems would be a part of the shift, and leave me for the time being, semi-dependent on their mail delivery services. I’ve already received notice that two incoming payments were returned to the senders, and my tax-prep return documents also suffered the same fate.

When I finally managed to snag a postwoman down the road, she almost admitted that things were out-a-hand down there at the P.O. She quickly scribbled off a number to call for postal disorders. Well, there must be some magic in that number, because my mailbox got goosed and next morning gushed forth stacks of mail. “Lawdy, Lawdy, I been found!” I might have shouted. Bukowski would have described it as sub-normal.

I had a chat with a couple of my neighbors about the mail drag, and they both asked if my name was on the INSIDE of the box. That apparently is a key factor, because someone did stick my name up inside, I noticed when pulling out all the mail. Must have been the building manager.

So, it’s not all singing frogs and herb gardens around here. The small bumps and snags will pop up, and over at the post office I don’t expect anything to be like that semi-famous brag of theirs, “Neither snow nor rain….”