Terror at thirteen ounces

BY LORETTA REDD
I lived for several years in one part of Santa Barbara where we never experienced one miss-delivered piece of mail. Requests for having mail held during our absences were met without a hitch, and delivery was restarted right on schedule.
Then, I moved.
What a difference a zip code can make. They must use a zodiac calendar for requests for ‘hold’ mail and restart dates, because it’s a mystery to me.

I think my new postal delivery person realized I was now living alone, and decided to assist me in meeting my neighbors. I have redirected mail to almost everyone on my street and a even couple of houses a few blocks over.
It’s a lovely way to get to know people, really, although I’m now privy to who just received their ‘third notice’ from a credit card bureau, and which neighbor subscribes to Playboy, tucked in its plain brown wrapper. My dog still enjoys the walks, however.
At the office, it’s no less frustrating. Working for a non-profit, our receipt of contributions by mail is a wonderful part of the day. But recently, a confabulated donor called to say that his envelope had been returned by the post office.
Although he had our non-profit’s name and address correct, he’d written “2nd floor” instead of “Suite 204,” an egregious error in postal land.
Now, there are only four suites on the second floor of our building. And at the time the postal delivery person decided this address was insufficient, he was simultaneously placing the “suite 204” mail for our non-profit into the correct slot, knowing full well which one was ours.
But on this particular day, our dear donor did not meet with government standards, so the much anticipated check was delayed by a week.
Speaking of government, across from our offices there is a collection box where we occasionally drop larger envelopes, or use when the outgoing box for our building is full. The other day, I noted a new triangular warning label adhered to the top of this shiny red, white and blue street mailbox.
It was the “13 Ounce Rule.”
The label reads, “Due to heightened security, all mail that bears postage stamps and weighs more than 13 ounces must be taken BY THE CUSTOMER to a retail counter at a post office.”
So I’m thinking, “What makes a stamped piece of 14 ounce mail more of a security threat than a piece of mail run through a postage meter?”
Then I’m also wondering, “What stuff could be a security threat at 14 ounces that couldn’t blow someone up or ooze out ominously at maybe 12 ounces?”
Now, if the “CUSTOMER” brings it to the post office as ordered, I suppose it’s not a security issue. But then, who is the ‘customer?’ Is it the person who stuffed the envelope, or the one who stuck the stamps on the outside, or the innocent secretary on her lunch break, responsible for the posting of this potentially lethal little manila package?
Rather callously, I suspect that this “13 Ounce Rule” might have more to do with the amount of weight the postal worker has to haul around, than the security element of its contents.
Especially when the last sentence in small print on the triangular warning label reads: “Failure to do so will result in the return of the package to the sender.”

Celebrity sighting: Dr. Laura was seen looking for herself at any restaurant in Santa Barbara.

Loretta Redd’s column appears every Tuesday in the Daily Sound. Send her an e-mail to letters@santabarbarafree.com