Have you ever wondered, "What happens to things that get "lost" mail?" Well, having just endured a 3-week long detainment in the Apache branch of the Tempe, Arizona Post Office, I know...and believe me, it ain't pretty! Deep inside the bowels of every United States Post Office lies the "Unclaimed Package Bin," a cleverly disguised torture chamber which I will here and forevermore refer to as "P.O. BOX HELL!"The cramped quarters, hellish heat, and creepy dark corners make this unforgiving dungeon a particularly perilous place for any wayward traveler, but especially if you just so happen to be a black lace bra who's already trying to cope with some big-time abandonment issues, and mounting claustrophobia.
Going to P.O. BOX HELL is every letter, package and parcel's worst nightmare...and the only way out is to push and shove and hoist yourself up to the top of the heap...and then do whatever it takes to stay up there and get noticed...which, even with my vast experience in that department, I found to be a very daunting task. My cups runnethed over with a foreboding sense of doom as I witnessed dozens of sweet little cookies, who'd been lovingly tucked into Grandmas' care-packages, turn bad in their desperate attempt to attract someone's attention. Unfortunately, it usually just turned out to be ants.
P.O. BOX HELL also houses it's share of dubious characters from the underbelly of postal society...notably, those "discreetly wrapped in plain brown paper" guys...beneath their seemingly innocent facades, lurked things I wouldn't touch with a 10 foot pole! And some older packages had been there for soooo long, they'd abandoned hope of ever reaching their intended destinations and just sort of mentally "checked out" instead.
One old fruitcake in particular, postmarked 1942, was so far gone, he took the term "fermented" to a whole new, odiferous level.
One old fruitcake in particular, postmarked 1942, was so far gone, he took the term "fermented" to a whole new, odiferous level. But the icing on the cake (and several of them were stinkin' up the place too) was when, late one night, a funny little Frenchman suddenly appeared outta nowhere wearing nothing but a leprechaun's hat and a big ol' Cheshire Cat grin!
"Sacre bleu!" he exclaimed as he spied me sticking out from among the huddled mass of postal refugees. "What iz zis magnifique and bodacious brazzeeire doing in a God forsaken hell-hole such as zis?!"
With that, he clutched me to his breast, snapped a quick picture...and Voila!...vanished into thin air! Was I hallucinating? Was I loosing my mind? Was I dead? Apparently not...and I've since learned that this guy is madder than a March Hare and created the whole "bra-napping" thing as part of a very clever publicity stunt.
(I tip my hat to your creativity, monsieur!)
(I tip my hat to your creativity, monsieur!)
Thankfully, my daring little Italian chaperon used her well-honed FBI tracking skills to conduct a search and rescue mission...once again risking life and limb to snatch me from the jaws of eternal postal damnation, and arriving just in the nick of time too...because if I had to spend one more freakin' minute in P.O. BOX HELL, I swear to God I woulda gone postal! But don't worry, that is never ever ever EVER gonna happen...because from here on out, it's UPS or FedEx............all the way, baby!
U.S. government surveillance photo of me and my intrepid little
Italian Chaperon bustin' outta the Apache branch of the
Tempe, Arizona Post Office
Signed, Sealed, and finally Delivered - I'm YOURS!
Italian Chaperon bustin' outta the Apache branch of the
Tempe, Arizona Post Office
Signed, Sealed, and finally Delivered - I'm YOURS!
