I've never really been someone to pay my bills online. I know. You'd think that someone with my fabulous bangs and keen sense of purses and nail polish would be able to get her act together to engage in some electronic bill paying. But I still go the snail mail route. Meh. Just how I'm wired. I kind of find comfort in gathering up all of my bills, plopping down on my pillowy deliciousness of a bed and banging out checks while watching The Shield on Netflix.
So that's what I this past Sunday night. I had everything ready and raring to go. I stuffed my bills in my notebook and gathered everything up so I could mail them the next day.
Well Monday came and went. I'll remember to do it Tuesday.
Um. Tuesday went by like a flash. (Sidebar: this is important to the blog. So on Tuesday I ran my credit report. That like FICO thing that details your Social Security Number, every single credit card you've ever opened, where you've lived, etc. Yeah so I got that info, the G-damn thing was about as thick as the Kind James Bible, folded it up and shoved it onto my notebook.)
Wednesday rolled around and I finally remembered right when I got into the office to mail my bills. I quickly grabbed the stack that was inside of my notebook, walked through out new office past the quasi-cute/dirty/sexy ugly guy who was fixing our doors and outside to the mail box, opened the little door thing with a rickety creeeeeeeeeeeek and plopped my enormous mound of bills into the blue box abyss.
I headed back to my desk and saw that I had voicemails so I grabbed my notebook, which felt awkwardly light. My heart skipped a beat. I didn't remember taking my FICO thingy out of my notebook but....but...surely I didn't just put it in the mail box. Surely I didn't just toss a document that could get my identity stolen into a public mail box that was spitting distance from the Pine Street Inn.
Oh dear Lord. I think I just did.
Um. Ok. How does one handle this. I mean I had to call the post office but everything you read and hear about, the postal service workers aren't generally the most helpful folks out there. Disgruntled comes to mind. But I decided to give it a whirl. I mean, dealing with supposedly unhelpful people is better than having your identity stolen.
After some research I found the number for the post office that picks up for that box. A woman answered who sounded like she'd been around the postal block.
I put on my best innocent girl voice, "Hi. I'm wondering if you can help me..." I proceeded to launch into a story about how I mailed something that I "reeeeeeeally shouldn't have" (understatement much???) and I need to get it out of that mail box in front of 477 Harrison Ave.
"Ok. I'm going to go find a supervisor to talk to you."
"Ok..."
I was surprisingly calm. I mean, my heart was skipping beats but I didn't break a sweat. Meh, I thought, this will make a good blog.
"Ok hun, we're a little short staffed right now so he's going to call you back."
"Ok," I breathed, "The next pickup is at 1pm. Do, um, do you need to know what I mailed by accident?"
"Sure. That would be helpful."
"My credit report. With everything on it. My social. My address. Everything."
"OH MY GOD. Ok well then I'll have it get back to you as soon as he can."
I hung up and stewed.
Maaaybe I did take it out of my notebook. I mean I don't remember doing that but I could have. I scanned my room inside of my head. I have a lot of "stuff" so the possibilities of where I place things randomly are endless. Controlled chaos comes to mind.
After emailing with Slut about it and her replying back "Oh that sucks. You could get your identity stolen and that's a headache you don't need," I decided to hop in my car and check at my apartment.
As I came down Savoy street there in front of me, like a beacon of light was a USPS truck. I pulled a hard left, swerved to miss a Pepsi truck and parked in the middle of the road (I had my hazards on).
I sprinted to the mailman. (And it has to be noted...I don't sprint.)
"OH SIR! YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW HAPPY I AM TO SEE YOU! YOU MAKE ME SO HAPPY RIGHT NOW!!!" I huffed.
The short little mailman, 90 pounds soaking wet stood there staring at me clutching a heaping pile of mail.
"Do you pick up mail for this area???"
"No."
GAH. "Ok well I mailed something in that mail box over there that I REEEEEEEEEEEEALLY need to get out. CAN YOU HELP ME?????"
"Uh go wait by the mail box. I'll be right there. I kind of have to (he gestured to his arms full of envelopes) deliver these."
"Sure Sure! NO PROBLEM! OF COURSE!!!"
I clutched the side of the mail box and waited for him to come over.
Finally, after what seemed like days,he strolled down the sidewalk, clutching his mail box opener key. He unlocked the box without a word and right there on top of everything was my folded up FICO credit information.
I gasped, then reached into the open door and grabbed it like I was saving it from some burning inferno.
Then I started to cry.
"THANK YOU SO MUCH! OH MY GOD I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WOULD HAVE DONE IF I HADN'T SEEN YOU!"
"Uh huh. You're welcome."
And off strolled my silent hero. I never got his name but he saved me from one large headache, as Slut put it.
And all this before 10:30a.m.!!
Epilogue:
I have to make mention that the post office which I had called earlier did end up calling me back about twenty minutes after I had rescued myself. I thanked him endlessly for all of his help and for calling me back and informed him that I grabbed a mailman to help me.
"I just can't believe I did that!" I said into the phone.
"Yeah....(you could tell that he could totally believe that I did that **CRAZY**) Ok now have a good day."