So help me, friends, I think I might have entered a passive aggressive note war. If you don’t think that note wars can get serious, think again. I don’t know what possessed me, honestly, I don’t, and I’m not proud.
First, some backstory.
When I moved into my new house, I was informed that the post office wouldn’t deliver to me, which I thought was kind of weird, but I actually prefer post office boxes, because they are generally more secure, so it wasn’t that big of a deal. I got a post office box. I receive mail in it. On a regular basis. I get a lot of mail, actually.
However, the thing about banks and financial institutions is that they want your street address. Which is pretty reasonable, all in all. So I have two addresses on file with all of my accounts, my street address, and a mailing address. This is standard practice. People do it all over the world. At any rate, my bank got profoundly confused, and they have been sending mail here, and that mail has ended up in my neighbor’s box. Probably…three or four times. I have been discussing this with the bank, and I think that the bank and I have finally agreed on the post office box as an address.
Imagine my surprise when I got home yesterday and there was a rain sodden piece of mail from the bank tossed on my porch with a note (in pencil, so it wouldn’t run!) that said “S-Get a mailbox! -P.” Now, I should note that this piece of mail was a formal notice that my address had been changed, which the bank presumably uses in cases someone hacks my account and tries to redirect my mail.
Now, I had just had my haircut, and I was feeling pretty awesome about it, so I basically went from “hey, it’s raining, but my hair is cut, and that’s great, and I’m going out with friends later, which is also great,” to “I hate my fucking neighbors. I hate all of them, and their noisiness, and their rudeness, and their selfishness (except for S., who is great).”
So…I wrote a note back. On the same envelope.
“Hi ‘P.’-While I appreciate your snarky note about getting a mailbox, I am actually having a dispute with the bank right now about where my mail is being sent. I apologize for the undoubtedly immense inconvenience of three or four pieces of misdirected mail. However, this should be the last one. -S.”
Will this be the final salvo in the note war? I hope so. I realize that my childish rage should not have overcome me, but, damnit, I was pissed. I had already talked with the cool neighbor, S., who lives downstairs in the front house, about the issue. He thought it was funny, but wasn’t really that upset about it. I can only assume that ‘P.’ lives upstairs; I have never been introduced to him, but there’s an older guy I see around a fair amount who is always really rude to me.
Now, while I realize it is kind of annoying to get mail for someone by accident, this is a small town, and it’s no big deal to drop it off at my house, especially considering that my house is right next to the parking space that the old dude always uses, and that in order to take out the garbage, you have to walk by my gate. And, honestly, I wouldn’t notice or care if I didn’t get any mail from the bank, because I do all of my banking online, and most of the shit they send me here is just advertising.
So…while two wrongs don’t make a right, I feel kind of entitled for leaving a bitchy note, because, damnit, he did it first.