A funny thing happened on the way to the post office

Enough soul searching. Here's a story: a few weeks ago I got a notice that I had received a package, but that it was being held in Svilengrad - a town on the Turkish border. Working for a wealthy municipality and in a department with some pull, the head of administration offered to have the municipal car drive me there the following week. Super! I mention to a colleague that I have no idea what to say to fight (and yes, a fight is expected) with customs and she generously agrees to go with me. Despite the annoyance, all seems like it will end well.

So, the next week comes and goes. Then this Monday a colleague asks when I want to go to Svilengrad - today or Tuesday or later in the week. Being American I say "today! Let's do it today!" and an hour later someone else comes back to me and says "That's great. You'll go tomorrow." On Tuesday the municipal driver, my colleague Maria and I all drive to retrieve my package. Upon arrival to town, Maria and I look at my claim slip - it has no phone number, no address, no name. It just says I have a package. So, we go to the train station (and what seems to be the largest building in town) and ask where to go. Go to the post office, they say. OK, so we go to the post office and ask the same round of questions. Go to customs, they say, so we head to the building where customs is supposed to be. First job: find customs.

We go to the place we were told was customs and look all around this large concrete building with lots of poorly or unmarked doors. After cleverly piecing together several ill-worded signs, Maria finds the right door. Now, this is something you will have to imagine - it's very Bulgarian and I'd love to capture it on film, if I didn't suspect I'd be kicked out of the country for it: you walk into the reception area (a small, room-size hallway) that is surrounded by opaque or shaded glass and little 1'x2' doors at about chest level. And you stand there and wait. And wait. Now, the glass isn't so shaded or opaque that you can't see that there are people behind it - which means they can see you too. But there's this little game, this little power play that the officials behind the glass play - you wait until THEY are ready. So, in this particular instance, not only are we and one other man standing there waiting, but there is a customs agent cleaning, opening and closing the blinds. This one is bent. Straighten. Should we tint them up or down? Up. Down. Up. Down. Down? No, up. Up. Now that one's bent. Straighten. This goes on for what must have been ten minutes. Finally, one of the small doors opens. You bend over (in so very many ways) and begin to explain your situation to the official. They tell you why it cannot be solved. And then you argue.

The dialogue begins with Maria explaining that I have a package. First hurdle: the official argues that I don't. He thinks the municipality has a package (my mail currently, or formerly, went to the municipality) under my name and so to retrieve it I need to be there with an official letter (meaning a letter with about 5 inked stamps on it) from the municipality saying it's OK for me to claim the package. Maria explains the situation (personal package, volunteer, uses business address, etc) and he says "OK, let me chat with 'my boss'" and closes the little door. Personally, I think this means "I need more coffee" but I don't know, because my window into the world behind the glass has just been closed. So, he comes back and gives the same party line. Maria again gives her same story (I think they want to see if the story changes - or they are just bored like the rest of us and want something to do). Again the door closes. When it opens a book appears with lots of handwritten entries and photocopies of custom slips that have been methodically trimmed to their form size. He finds my entry and my custom slip. It's my package from Monica. Form perfectly filled out. Again he argues for the same thing and Maria argues back and then he asks her to translate the customs form for him, meaning he wants to know what I am getting. "Book, foot lotion, foot scrub, foot soak." So, beyond the embarrassment of a custom agent now knowing I have crusty feet (hey, at least I do something about it!) I realize that two of my colleagues are spending their day helping me retrieve my skin care products. It's all so bizarre.

The customs agent finally agrees that the story must be credible (or maybe he just gave up or needed more coffee) so we were sent back to the post office. We walk into the post office (it's a tiny room) and the two women manning it walk into the back, even though they just saw us walk in and customs must have just called and OK'ed the release of the package. They return a couple of minutes later and ask what we want. Maria explains (never mentioning my name), they say OK and magically know what name to look for. Hmmm. Anyway, so placed before me, just beyond the glass, is my package, my package from my sister. So, I look at Maria and say, "Hey, that's my package, but it's not the same one that the other guy listed." She tells the woman there is another package. The woman argues. Maria argues back. The women goes to find my other package. So, just beyond the glass I have two packages. The two women start to discuss if I need to pay taxes. Maybe I need to pay Haskovo taxes, if so, maybe they should ship the packages to me in Haskovo. I suddenly fear that I will never touch my treasures. This goes on for awhile. Then it stops. Much like the last office, there is this critical point where they just give up, for no clear reason. In an instant, my packages are handed to me and we are on our way.

The end. (It's supposed to be an adventure, right?!)