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.
No comments:
Post a Comment