Special Delivery

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On Sunday, February 28, 2010, it appeared that history was made at our house.

On that particular day, we were probably the only people in the United States to receive mail delivery. More specifically, I was the “chosen one” who was honored in that special way.

Not only did I discover an envelope addressed to me in my mailbox, but it was also opened and left unsealed. You couldn’t have begun to imagine how fortunate and blessed I felt that someone cared so much about me and wanted to make my life, my birthday and my weekend easier by previewing my mail and getting it ready for me.

After all, had my envelope been left alone, I could have received a nasty paper cut (or possibly much worse) when I went to retrieve the contents. Those days one couldn’t have been too careful. You never knew who could have sprinkled a little Antrax inside.

I should have thanked my lucky stars to have been the recipient of such attentive service.

If I were delusional, stupid or incompetent, I might have.

Instead, I was reeling over Dick’s latest shtick. Being my birthday weekend, he was going above and beyond his usual antics. Heavens forbid I should have a few days of peace and enjoy myself without him making my life a living hell.

Opening my mail, reading it and putting it back in the mailbox on a day when there was no mail delivery, was not only mean, irritating, childish and vengeful, it was a crime. Mail tampering was a federal offense. Dick needed to be stopped and finally put in his place.

The next day, Monday, March 1, 2010, there were more postal surprises to deal with. Our mail receptacle was a square wooden box affixed to the inside of our garage wall. An opening outside of the building was where incoming mail was deposited. If we were lucky, all the parcels landed in the box and not all over the garage floor. For the most part, the letters tossed in wound up somewhere in the middle of the bottom of the receptacle.

On that particular day, a few letters were neatly lined up flush against the far surface of the container. If one did not look carefully, they would have easily been missed. Now I can assure you, this was not the work of our friendly neighborhood mail person. The odds of all of those envelopes landing in the formation they were discovered in were probably infinity to one. As sure as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, that mail was strategically and methodically placed in that position.

It wouldn’t take too many guesses to figure out who carried out that feat. The question was, What would possess Dick to do something like that? And the appropriate follow-up question to this would have been, Didn’t he have anything better to do with himself?

At times like that, it was hard to believe that Dick was a doctor. You’d think he’d have been concentrating on saving lives (or at least in his case, making sure his patients feet were comfortable) instead of continuously scheming on how to destroy mine. Obviously, his priorities were a little skewed.

When I checked to see what was delivered, I was shocked at what I discovered. A bill from my credit card company was opened and resealed. In addition, a letter from our mediator addressed to me was tampered with and mail addressed to Ashley was already opened as well.

He had taken things way too far.

I called the post office, spoke with a manager and explained to him what I discovered. I didn’t mention that I thought Dick was doing this. While he was my primary suspect, I was only going on the assumption that he was the likely culprit. And the reality was, who else would want to get into my garage and mess with the mail.

I was told to save the envelopes as evidence and call the police to report this as a “suspicious occurrence.”

I was happy to oblige.

 

 

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