Change of Address

I work for the United States Postal Service, so I know what has to happen when a resident of the community moves and wishes his or her mail forwarded to the new place.  I am also a resident of the community who has had to change addresses.

The circumstances, in my particular case at that particular time, weren’t that my family and I had to physically move, but rather that the clerk at our home-town post office insisted that the PO box we had rented was simply way too small to hold the amount of mail we were getting.   I served as a labor representative at the time for my Union, and I was always receiving thick packets of case files, communications from the parent organization, etc.  Needless to say, my PO Box filled up rather rapidly on a daily basis.

We’d had that PO Box for years and I dreaded giving it up.  It felt like that PO Box number had become an integral part of my identity.  I’d had it published on business cards, letterhead, and the like.  It was before all the fancy word processing capabilities we can use now to create our own.  We ordered labels, and pre-inked stamps to affix our return address on correspondence and envelopes.  But in accordance with the rules and regulations of the rental agreement that stated we had to rent a box that would routinely accommodate the volume of mail we received, all that had to change.

This meant we had to rent a different, larger, box and then change our address with everyone who sent us mail.  Utility companies, the people I represented, human resources at work, and everybody else who might send us mail had to be notified.   Office supplies would have to be re-ordered.  Of course, the USPS would forward our mail for free for a year, so it gave us plenty of time to ensure the appropriate changes were made.  And since it was only going to be changed from one box to the other, in the same building, we would suffer relatively little hassle on the delivery end of things.

I didn’t mind.  Even though it wasn’t the building where I was employed, the clerk knew us, so I was comfortable in the knowledge that he would take care of our mail should any mistakes occur.  My oldest daughter, a teenager in high school at the time, didn’t like it one bit.

Her complaint:  “Do you know how many people I had to notify just because we moved to the left a little?!”




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