Lost in the Mail

Warning: this is a very long post on what really only occupied a few hours of time.

Throughout this year, for reasons I will get to, the Post Office has been the setting for some of my most embarrassing and frustrating scenes. It has gotten so bad that many of the people there know me and probably, like I do, dread the visits.

 

First a little background on the postal system of Adana. There are a few scattered around the city but only one main office where any packages from outside the country are delivered. Apparently the first day your package arrives they bring it to you house but if nobody is home, as is often the case in my house, they leave nothing and bring it to the post office where you must be physic to know has arrived. If you don't show up in time they send the package back, which has now happened to me twice. 

 I am being a bit unfair to the post office though, the first couple package miscommunication started at a more local level. Somehow between Dilşad and we managed to get one letter in our address mixed up, which caused my moms package to take like three months to get here and my dads to simply be sent home, all this after hours of confusion. This was all frustrating, but it really only added fuel to the flame when I tried to pick up a very small package my sister had sent. 

 I have forgotten a lot of stuff a lot of places in my life, but leaving my camera charger with my sister in Rome while I returned to Turkey was a bummer. The cost to send it express so I could have it in time for my trip to Ankara and Antalya was also pretty bad, especially considering that it is a 2inch box of plastic. From experience with my other packages I knew that I needed to come with a barcode and patience. I first went to the package pick up room which is a small office adjoined to the big main post office. There I gave them my barcode, but was told my package wasn't in the system so I should go to the main post office. In the main post office I was directed to a row of high counters with a few people milling about chatting. When I gave them my barcode number, they told me there was some sort of problem, they weren't really sure, but did I know my address? That is were things started to get rough. I don't know my address because it is about six lines long and full of words I can't pronounce. At this point in very Turkish fashion, everyone wants to help, whether they are post office staff, just sending a letter, know English or whatever, before I know it  I have a group of people gathered around me all trying to explain something I was pretty sure I understood but was now only getting more more confused. Finally, when I was at the point of tears, I made it out believing if I returned with my address somehow it would all work out. 

Though I probably should have given myself a day or so to recharge, I went back that day to get with a friend who also had a package to pick up. She knew this because I saw her name in the three-ring-binder they keep with the print-offs from the incoming packages so you can sometimes see without asking if you have a package. When I looked in that binder again, I saw that I too had a package, one that turned out to be from Shelle, though when I showed the man there my id it ignited the fire. He remembered my dads package and the address problems, and apparently my dads package had been there (about 3 months) until the day before when they had finally returned it home, though my host mom says they are lying and it went back about a month before. He seemed a bit mad, and started yelling at me about all these problems that had occurred, obviously all my fault. He kept at it for a few minutes, and when I was bright red and near tears because everyone in the post office was staring at me he decided to get my new package and help me find the old one. He told me to go to Seyhan, though I had no idea where I was and so he told me to climb over the counter. I stared blankly thinking I had misheard. Climb over the counter? But no, because then he pantomimed climbing over this counter. My friend Sophie and I looked at each other, shrugged, and climbed over the counter. My face was about the color of the Turkish flag. We followed him through a hall and up a flight of stairs where we went into some filing room where after a quick check they confirmed my fear, the package had been sent back to the states. They say it was because there was no name, my sister says she put a name on it. Who knows? but I had no camera charger, fortunately I have great friends, one of  whom lent me her camera for a of couple weeks. Also having a new and wonderful package to open softened the blow.

This is not the end. About a month later, I made my way back to the post office. Already wary I avoided the package office and went straight to the big one. They send me immediately to Seyhan, which I now know is accessed from the other side of the building, and is also the drop off. After exchanging my ID for a beat-up looking card the security card points me to a door, when I entered, I was in the inner workings of the post office. All around me people were dropping off packages, filling mail, or loading their postal bags. I was confused. A nice man asked me what I wanted, when I told him I was looking for this package he didn't respond but asked me if I was from Turkey or Azerbaijan, which flattered and annoyed me, but mostly flattered. I was finally sent to a man named Erken who made some calls, and then wanted my number. Of that I was skeptical, I don't often give out my number and this didn't seem very protocol, but none of this does really. So I tried to give him my host moms so at least she could understand him when he called, I handed him my phone to see the number and he just called himself with it so he had my number. He told me to call him on Monday, which confused me even more, but I said I would. Saturday morning I woke up at 9:00 to post office Erken calling, and immediately passed the phone to my host mom. Apparently he had my package and now all I had to do was pick it up. Back at Seyhan on Saturday, Erken was nowhere to be found, and the gathering of, I swear, every member of the post office started. Finally I just gave up and called my host mom who talked to the men, and my package was found. 

 As I ripped open the tiny envelope and pulled out that plastic charger that I had gone through so much to get, I felt a sense of disappointment. I mean after all there is not that much exciting about a Panasonic DE-A59 charger. I was so frustrated by the postal system which seems to run without rhyme or reason, but comforted by the kindness of the people. I must have heard 15 times that my Turkish was good, and asked over and over what I was doing there. They were curious and anxious to help. It really helps in a place where I know so few people compared to my own little island, when people are as friendly as if they have known you for years.