Fedex frustrations

It was a long, hot and frustrating day, spent working and trying to tie up loose ends in New York. I’ve finally got my advance parole, which allows me to leave the country — which I’m doing tomorrow. Michelle left a day earlier (today), and texts me on her way to the airport that I have a package waiting for me at the FedEx depot on Leroy Street in the West Village. Since we’ll be gone for a while, I take a subway over there with the door tag (marked “Salmon”) and my driver’s license. But when I get there, I’m told that they can’t give me the package, because it’s addressed to Michelle Salmon and not Felix Salmon. Michelle Salmon, of course, doesn’t exist: if Michelle went to pick up the package, they’d tell her that she couldn’t have it either, because it was addressed to Michelle Salmon and not Michelle Vaughan. But just to rub things in, the FedEx people do divulge to me that the package contains… bread. Which means that if we ever do get the package, on our return, it will be inedible, and possibly alive. There’s nothing I can do, so I get on another subway back home. Yet another hour of my life I’ll never get back. But let this be a lesson to you all: don’t ever try to be clever when addressing packages. Make sure the name on the package is the same as the name on our photo ID, or there’s a good chance we’ll never get what you’re sending.