Phase 3 in my attempt to feel like a real resident here (after the acquisition of a mailbox and the installation of the internet) was to get home delivery of the New York Times. I called to initiate a temporary change of address for my subscription, but once again my initiative was thwarted by the slippery nature of my address. Highway 1 (the Post Office version) didn’t ring a bell, nor did State Route 1 (the ATT version), so I had to resort to one of the other three options. Ding ding ding – the New York Times managed to pull “Shoreline Highway” up in its system, and in theory, I was good to go.
But last Monday, when the change of address was to have been activated, no paper appeared in my driveway. I called the NYT to let them know that delivery was likely having a problem. When the paper didn’t show up again on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, I repeated the process. Each time a new note was added for the delivery log, including my phone number to sort this out with me directly, and each time the note, allegedly, went higher up in the system, so that perhaps the problem might be noticed and resolved by a supervisor.
On Friday morning, the familial blue plastic-wrapped lump appeared in my driveway, and I greeted it with the warmth I’d lay on an old friend. So happy to see you! Sorry the trip was so arduous. Now let’s sit down and have a cup of coffee and catch up.
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