Months ago, before I moved in, I mailed a box of my favorite books to my dorm. It included old favorites from childhood (like Caps for Sale and a Calvin & Hobbes anthology), comics, freebies from my Random House internship, and some recently acquired goodies from the local used bookstore.
It never arrived.
A week after its scheduled delivery date, the top flaps of the boxwere sent back to my house, with a note saying (basically) “oh, sorry, your shipping label fell off.”
Well, duh. The box had been ripped open, derpy mcfuckles.
So my favorite books have been MIA ever since, with an exposed container, no shipping label, and no address.
The Post Office gave a few dead end contacts on the shipping facility and the lost and found warehouse and refused to track down the trucks or the shipping routes. And I hadn’t bought insurance because I had trusted the Post Office to do its job…
Why am I thinking about this now? I’m reading a book (borrowed from the library) that was part of my lost collection. It’s a classic introduction to New Testament scholarship that normally costs about 50$. I found a copy at the used bookstore this summer in pristine condition for 5$. FIVE DOLLARS