Saturday, August 13, 2016

Address Unknown

"Return to sender, address unknown.

 No such number. No such zone."
Elvis Presley, "Return to Sender"

The saga unfortunately continues.
Going into month #3, the transition from a docile existence in a reasonably quiet neighborhood to the rigors of apartment life has been frustrating at best, downright nerve-jangling at worst. From dealing with the whiny-child alarm that squeals every evening at 10:30 (shouldn't toddlers go to bed earlier?) to the Harley-Davidson riding douche sack who feels compelled to blat his hog about the parking lot below at all hours of the day and night, it's been fun, but it hasn't been REAL fun. Parking is increasingly horrendous and construction on the rest of the community resumes earlier every week-day morning, at recent time-check 6:30 AM. As it is, the courtyard echoes with the sound of a pin dropping (who keeps doing that?) and the recent Hillsboro Air Show flyovers were a regular Deaf Comedy Jam. I felt like I was living in a Best Buy. The Fourth of July was worse. At the old place, we would hear fireworks, usually the illegal type purchased on the rez, blasting off from dusk 'til dawn, to which we would always proclaim while pointing in the direction of the explosions, "It's coming from over there." We now live over there. (Thank you, George M. Cohan) The reports of bottle rockets soaring into our area made me long for the days of downtown Kabul.

But the ongoing hemorrhoid has been the change of address itself. We live a mile away from where we were in what should be the very same zip code since the blocks surrounding us confirm that very fact. But no. Since this is recent construction, new street addresses and names had to be created by the US Postal Service. And they make absolutely no sense at all. The "main thoroughfare" is NW 206th Avenue.The new street at our new digs, one block away is NE 89th Avenue. What? And the zip has changed to 97006.Huh? Two blocks over, it resumes to NW and 97124. Shut up..........

Upon moving I sent in our change of address to the post office so that our mailed could forwarded. We didn't see even a postcard for the first two weeks. Attempting to change things online-bank accounts, DMV, etc.-had been a study in futility since I am always informed that the USPS cannot find this street address at this zip code. I had to fix some of these the old fashioned way-in person, but some I couldn't. I hadn't received my Oregon state tax refund, lost in the muck and mire somewhere under this rainbow. Contacting the tax bureau online (by phone-fergit it. I'd still be on hold...from June) garnered the same results. Address not found in this zip code. I went to the source-USPS almighty. I couldn't send the message either since it required an address because...address not found in zip code.

Excuse me as I raise my voice...



The dust is settling, but there are some dangling participles which may forever hang in the balance. I discovered that my forwarded mail from a place that I will repeat again for emphasis is a mile away first had to travel to Seattle in order to find its way back to me. I'll never see that stuff, whatever it may be, but at least my junk mail has be nil, a mixed blessing. The state tax refund arrived and DMV has alsofinally complied to my requests just in the nick of time since the registration of one of our vehicles expres at the end of this month. However, some other motherhumping whorehounds have yet to believe what USPS has at least admitted...this street address can indeed be found in this zip code.

Or can it?

As this slowly and never very surely becomes resolved, I have some minor blessings about said new digs. We are on the top floor (third, big whoop) overlooking the courtyard below and at night I can channel my inner Jimmy Stewart at I look across at our increasing number of new neighbors and wonder, REAR WINDOW style if I'm going to fortunate enough to view a murder. Who knows? Maybe I can commit my very own (Is Harley home?) and get away with it. After all, nobody seems to know where I live.

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