Art and Joan, You're Getting Your Mail!

Four months ago, a few weeks before Christmas, my roommates and I received a red envelope at our home in Washington D.C. The address was a little off. We live on 10th St. S.E. The letter was addressed to 10th Ave E.

And it was addressed to West Fargo, North Dakota.

Oopsie!

I assumed it was a Christmas card and, as a responsible citizen, quickly showed it to as many friends and family as possible, took a few photos of it, and promptly forgot about it for the next five months.

That is a slight exaggeration. I did reinsert it into the mail slot. The mail carrier didn't pick it up. Hey, buddy, I don't blame you. Not your state, nor your problem. I tossed it on a pile of junk mail, made a vague notion to do something about it, sometime, preferably soon, like before May.

And I did! I unearthed it while cleaning up a few days ago, beating the deadline that I have a very clear memory of probably making. I took action, removing the red missive from the pile of old Val-U-Pak coupons and letters of various importance for former housemates that they have no chance of receiving unless they get severe amnesia, turn to a life of crime, and then break into the house, creating a confusing and awkward moment for all when they see a pile of mail addressed to themselves, on top of our liquor cabinet and weighed down by an old, rotting onion.

The letter in hand, I vowed to make one more attempt to guide it back into the U.S. Postal System. Now is not your time, little one. This time, I would ensure the post carrier took the lost letter by writing "Misdelivered" on it, because evidentially "North Dakota" wasn't vaulting over the Try Again bar.

I gave up after writing the "M". I only had a red pen, and since the envelope was red (I give no extraneous details!) the writing was illegible.

What to do? Get a black pen, you say? Well, cowboy, here's the problem: the black pen was upstairs. I was downstairs. Lazy people don't go up and down the same flight of stairs unless it's an emergency. The practice is inefficient, and once we start, who knows what horrible chores our feet may take us to?

Instead, I left it on the dining room table, where one of my two roommates would surely see it and handle the situation, or at least have a dark-ink pen.

Alex ended up having the right equipment + gumption to do the job. I provided supervision, namely asking "Do you have a black pen?" and "Would you mind writing 'Misdelivered' on this letter?" I pointed out my red M, lest she think I was lazy and didn't follow through with my tasks. I also stopped her from opening the letter and peeking inside. She'll claim she was joking, but I think my tut-tutting and a weak bond of paper and glue were all that was protecting Art and Joan's perverted secrets.

Art, Joan, your letter is on the way. I hope your friendship with the sender is still intact. If it isn't, that's okay, because you two would have to be big jerks to break a friendship over a missed Christmas Card. Merry Christmas. I'll assume you'll write a wonderful thank you note to me, and that it will get lost in the mail.