Superbox is a Misnomer

Where I live, we don't have mail delivered to our front doors, but to a stand of boxes called a superbox. It looks something like this:




This is generally a good thing, I think, since my postal carrier and I have an agreement that she can just throw things that tell her they need a signature in one of the two package compartments in the superbox instead. Locks = excellence.

Sometimes, however, the superbox is a problem. Like today. Because instead of clutching my lovely new bag, and posting a photo heavy essay wherein I wax poetic about falling in love with it the moment I took it out of its package, I am, instead, holding a postal delivery slip stating that I can pick up my dear, dear bag at a local post office. Tomorrow. After 1PM.

I postulate that the largest package compartment, which itself is not that large, was too small for the package that my lovely new bag was sent out in.

So, not so super now, is it?

Putting A Price On Your Time

I have. I do. Today, my time was worth $15.

Say what you will about Government run programs and their relationship with efficiency, Passport Canada's network of Canada Post Receiving Agents is a stroke of genius.

I would gladly pay $15 and wait five extra business days to receive my wee book 'o travel then spend hours in line amoungst the surly masses. Because if someone is going to be surly, it should only be me, and I should be alone to revel in it.