The Wicked Witch of the West

It started out as a simple misunderstanding: my mailman thought I was the wicked witch of the west.

“These people haven’t lived in my house in 10 years,” I said dryly as I handed the same piece of mail back for the 400th time.

Apparently it pushed him over the edge.

After months of erratic mail delivery, re-delivery, and re-re-delivery, I realized we had a problem. The mailman was no longer delivering mail that wasn’t mine. In fact, he wasn’t delivering mail at all.

There were no ads. No wrongly addressed letters. No bills (hallelujah)!

But in what seemed like a miraculous answer to prayer during the recession turned into a nightmare for my credit score. Suddenly I was receiving phone calls from people who apparently… wanted my money. And apparently… I owed it to them.

I complained to the post office. I complained to the postman. I complained to the national hotline. Apparently there was a consensus: ignore the witch and she will go away.

It has been exactly 19 days since my last complaint. I started receiving mail again, much to my relief. But yesterday I realized, to my horror -- the mail delivery was selective.

In order to be delivered to my house, a piece of mail had to meet at least one of the following requirements:

1) be mailed before 1984
2) be labeled “contains anthrax”
3) clearly state “this letter is an advertisement for legal services”

Come to think of it, I might open one of those legal services ads. The only question is… can witches hire lawyers?

Because I need one.