When I was in Oregon, my sister-in-law and I had a conversation about dreams and nightmares.
She said she frequently had nightmares. I thought that a bit odd since I had not had a nightmare since I was a child.
What I found even odder is that when she talked about what turned a dream into a nightmare (being chased, falling though the air) for her were exactly the events that I found exhilarating in my dreams. That is, when I am in my dreams. Usually, I am the director or writer. Just as in life, I like to watch.
I thought of that yesterday when I was at the post office finalizing the payment of my rent for my box.
Now, I know I told you I had paid the fee last Thursday (leviathan says you do not need that money). That was a lie. But, in my defense, I had started the process.
In fact, I had started the process the day before -- on Thursday. I stopped at the post office with my 300 pesos in hand to pay my rental fee. I should have known better that it would not be that simple.
During the past two years there have been big changes at our post office. A new postmaster. Audits. Termination of old programs (accepting delivery from DHL and UPS). More formality in transactions. Closure of the Barra de Navidad post office.
There are lots of rumors swirling around town why all these changes happened. But I do not know if any of them have any validity. I am certainly not going to add any credibility by repeating them.
Because of the changes, though, I should not have been surprised when the postmaster requested a copy of my electric bill to renew my box. Almost every financial transaction in Mexico requires the customer to whip out his current electric bill to verify his address. The name on the bill does not even have to match the customer's. It is just a requirement.
A quick memory check would have reminded me I had to do something similar last year. But then I had to provide a copy of my electric bill and the photo page of my passport. I suspect that was a result of the audit.
I did not have my electric bill with me. I am not as smart as my friend Joyce who always carries her in her purse. So, I had to return the next day.
What came next felt almost as if I had slipped into one of those dreams that seem real, but I know it cannot be.
When I showed up on Friday with the bill, the postmaster said he needed a copy of it (I had failed to anticipate that). Had I remembered the copy, I could not have completed the transaction because he had not yet drafted up my agreement. Come back next week.
So, I did. Yesterday. With a copy of my bill and my 300 pesos.
The postmaster had completed part of the paperwork, but he required me to fill out a new application form -- even though I was renting the same box I have been renting for a decade. The same information he had included on the rental agreement.
That was fine. It just seemed to be a bit of overkill since no information on the form had changed since last January.
Having completed my application and signed two copies of the formal agreement, I was ready to pay my money. And I did. 300 pesos.
The postmaster looked at the bills and smiled. For a moment I thought the rental fee had increased -- even though the agreement clearly showed the cost was 300 pesos.
"Necesitas diez pesos más." "You need ten more pesos."
I will admit that that the automatic gringo fallback of "What are you trying to pull?" flashed through my mind. Instead, I asked him why.
"For the copy."
Now, I was confused. The only copy involved in the transaction was my electric bill and I had made that copy. Before I sank into cross-examination mode, it occurred to me that there was another copy. My copy of the rental agreement that also acted as my receipt.
I chalked it up to just another attempt to bring the post office into the corral of financial discipline.
A number of merchants in out area (including Oxxo) have incentives for customers to bring their own bags while shopping. Oxxo will still provide a plastic bag, but the customer has to buy it. I have noticed a number of neighbors who simply gather up their purchases in their arms rather than pay for something that was once free.
That is not a good option at the post office. One of the consequences of the postmaster shift a couple years ago was an effort to collect on delinquent payments for box rentals. Receipts were not always issued under the old regime. As a result, some renters paid twice that year.
A Mexican friend taught me that lesson when I first moved to Mexico. Keep your receipts for everything.
So, I paid my ten pesos for proof that I had actually paid my 300 pesos. Oddly, I did not receive a receipt for the 10 pesos. That would been bureaucratic overkill.
But, my dream was not yet over. Joyce had told me that there was a letter (probably a greeting card by its shape) for me at the post office. She knew that because the postmaster had given it to her earlier in the week. Her box is just below mine.
Somehow, in the passage of one day, the letter had disappeared. I told the postmasrer Joyce's story, but he remembered nothing like that.
Of course, maybe the whole thing was a dream. But certainly not a nightmare.
I will admit that that the automatic gringo fallback of "What are you trying to pull?" flashed through my mind. Instead, I asked him why.
"For the copy."
Now, I was confused. The only copy involved in the transaction was my electric bill and I had made that copy. Before I sank into cross-examination mode, it occurred to me that there was another copy. My copy of the rental agreement that also acted as my receipt.
I chalked it up to just another attempt to bring the post office into the corral of financial discipline.
A number of merchants in out area (including Oxxo) have incentives for customers to bring their own bags while shopping. Oxxo will still provide a plastic bag, but the customer has to buy it. I have noticed a number of neighbors who simply gather up their purchases in their arms rather than pay for something that was once free.
That is not a good option at the post office. One of the consequences of the postmaster shift a couple years ago was an effort to collect on delinquent payments for box rentals. Receipts were not always issued under the old regime. As a result, some renters paid twice that year.
A Mexican friend taught me that lesson when I first moved to Mexico. Keep your receipts for everything.
So, I paid my ten pesos for proof that I had actually paid my 300 pesos. Oddly, I did not receive a receipt for the 10 pesos. That would been bureaucratic overkill.
But, my dream was not yet over. Joyce had told me that there was a letter (probably a greeting card by its shape) for me at the post office. She knew that because the postmaster had given it to her earlier in the week. Her box is just below mine.
Somehow, in the passage of one day, the letter had disappeared. I told the postmasrer Joyce's story, but he remembered nothing like that.
Of course, maybe the whole thing was a dream. But certainly not a nightmare.
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