And the Answer Is…

Today we begin with facts.

Fact:  The Virginia town in which I reside has no mail delivery.

Fact:  That is all about to change.

Fact:  Not without controversy.

Fact:  This story is going to be fun.

Our town was founded in 1867.  According to Wikipedia, seven years later, the United States Postal Service officially named our town “Greenbackville.”

Contrary to what Spell Check says, that is the correct spelling.  Blame the USPS.

In all these years, we’ve had a small post office in town, but that disappeared about five years ago when their personnel did their best to goad the Postmaster General into closing it.  That may not seem like a big deal however, we had to physically visit the post office to retrieve our mail; there was no home delivery available.  Period.

At that time, the Greenbackville Post Office merged with the Horntown Post Office, roughly six miles away – not a considerable distance as rural areas go.

Upon closure, the personnel mysteriously vanished – or were perhaps reassigned – as they should have been.

And everything in our little enclave was becoming “normal” again.  Until two weeks ago, that is.

My sainted wife dutifully picked-up the mail from the bustling Horntown facility and found something disturbing therein: a letter to all former Greenbackville customers.  Apparently the merge created an overwhelming burden of more work.

This two-page letter painfully explained how we now had an option to either erect a mailbox at our residence, or we could continue to pick up our mail.  If we elected to pick it up, we would begin paying for a Post Office box.  It was a no-brainer.

I proactively purchased an over-sized box, wooden post, and lettering, to make this happen.  I also called a lady named Miss Utility. 

Miss Utility, it turns out, is not a woman; it is a service that marks the ground where public utilities run.  Knowing where to dig can prevent damage to telephone and cable TV lines, and prevent an electrocution from accidentally finding an electric cable.

I called them and had my area spray-painted with orange and red dashed lines and arrows.

Neighbors watched through drawn blinds and curtains, not sure of what to make of all this.  In fact, I had two approach me with questions about what size silo I was going to build.

While I explained the previous few paragraphs to them, their eyes glazed over and they strolled away like zombies to smoke more reefer.

It seems as though the USPS has not evolved much since 1874.  Their brilliant plan for individual residential mail boxes contained a ‘hitch in their giddy up.’

Their new rule was ALL MAILBOXES ARE TO BE PLACED ON THE SAME SIDE OF THE STREET.  NO EXCEPTIONS!!!

The only exception was on the next block where they could be located on either side of the street.

Scenario I am trying to avoid

All this meant I get to stare at five mailboxes on my pristine lawn.  They would be different sizes, colors, varying supporting posts, and likely crooked.  Yea!

So a quick trip to Horntown for a meeting with the powers-that-be was akin to talking to an aluminum folding chair.  Since I don’t handle “stupid” well, I let my sainted wife take the lead.

The brain trust explained the rules to me herthusly:  All boxes on my street were to be placed on the same side of the street.  I already read that part in the letter. 

When she asked why another street was exempt from this rule, she was told the delivery person would have to turn around for the other side of the street.  No lie.

There you have it. Rural Postal Service personnel have difficulty figuring out how to use a steering wheel.

And people wonder why the USPS loses money.