Monday, July 26, 2010


Our tenuous plan for handling our mail: Get a P.O. Box near Chip's parents in Bridgeville, Delaware. Easy.

My conversation with the post office worker went something like this:

Me: I need info on renting a P.O. box.

Dude, looking all confident: All you need is a driver's license and a car insurance card.

Me, feeling hopeful: Do I have to be a Delaware resident?

Dude, looking impatient: No, but we have to send a letter to your current residence and have it sent back to us with proof of residence.

Me, feeling less hopeful: You mean, like a physical address?

Dude, looking somewhat confused: Yes?

Me, feeling ashamed: I don't have an address. I live on a boat.

"You live on a boat!?!?"

We stared at each other for a minute or so.

Me, grasping at straws: What if I used my in-laws' address?

"Okay, what's their address?"

"I don't know. I don't live there."

Dude, longing for a customer who wants a simple book of stamps: I better go ask.

He walks away and then turns back: How long are you gonna be doing this?

As far as the U.S. Postal Service is concerned, we do not exist. I hope they notify the IRS.

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