You know when someone starts droning on and on about a problem that’s not really a problem to anyone else — not like wars, crime, hunger, Paris Hilton, that sort of thing — but a non-issue? A non-issue to everyone in the world except the one person going on and on about it?


That’s what this post is about.


At least I gave you fair warning.


It occurred to me this morning, when I was e-mailing back and forth with a friend who simply wanted my mailing address, that giving it out is not that simple. And this has bothered me for a long time.


See, my street name is incredibly long. And, if you live here, it makes no sense. (You’d have to live here, and believe me, it’s not worth moving here to figure out what I’m talking about.) To top it off, my street is actually a highway, and it has five separate names, depending on which stretch you’re on. And the cherry on this little sundae of ridiculousness?  It’s the fact that my little strip of the five-name highway has actually had three different names in the past, depending on when you lived on it.


What does this mean to you? Absolutely nothing. Unless you live here. Then it means that no one, absolutely NO ONE, knows where my road actually IS. When I place an order online, it’s usually rejected because my address is not being recognized by the USPS system. So I have to go in and try every abbreviation in the entire world to see which one they’ll take this time.

And before you go telling me to just write down the address that works? Hush. Because it changes. I don’t know why. Each time the system takes a different abbreviation. And I will never enter that dark, cold place that results from trying to call the postal service, getting hold of a real live person, and asking them. (And, if you think that’s a cold dark place? Try actually talking to some of those people. Shiver.)


This is the reason we chased a UPS shipment of a trumpet all over the greater metropolitan area. This is the reason why two Christmas presents were late getting to their recipients one year because I made the mistake of ordering them online and expecting the UPS guys to, you know, find me. And it’s the reason that people think I’m an ungrateful wench because I don’t acknowledge things that were sent to me. Like the other day, when a business associate for whom I had done a big favor called me to make sure I had received a gift certificate she had sent me to thank me for said favor. Because it had been a while, and she knew me well enough to know that I would have picked up the phone, protested that she shouldn’t have, and thanked her. Graciously. Because I’m southern. Had I actually received it.


I sure hope that the people that got my gift card are enjoying the hell out of my meal.

Back when this area was incredibly rural, as opposed to somewhat, albeit yuppie, rural now, people used to actually have addresses like this:  Mr. Word Nerd, General Delivery, Podunk, Louisiana XXXXX.  And that actually worked.

Maybe we should just go back to that.