With every good deed, it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?
I got mail today that was meant for a business about a 25-minute walk from my place. The envelope did have my house number on it — 24 — when the actual address is 254.
Honest mistake, but there was a time when I wouldn’t have thought twice about scribbling “not at this address” on the envelope, dropping it in the mailbox and letting Canada Post deal with it. But today I thought, how tough could it be to just look up the correct address and deliver it myself? Tougher than it sounds, as it turns out.
Before setting off, I looked up the number of the company who sent the letter, called and told them what happened and asked them to correct the info they had on file to avoid the misdirected mail in future. The man I spoke with was glad I called and thanked me for taking the time.
Then things went downhill fast (and not only because I live at the top of a hill). For one thing, it was very hot today (so hot the air got those ripples through it like it does in Lawrence of Arabia). Even so, I cheerily strolled for 20 minutes to where I was sure I’d seen the sign for this business.
But like a desert mirage — again, picture sand searing Peter O’Toole’s eyeballs — it was not where I thought it was. I went back and forth along the same block and even stopped into two other businesses and asked if they knew where this office was but no luck.
I approached one building that I thought might be it, but it had fallen into disrepair and looked a little shady — like a Tony Soprano sublet — so I gave up and brought my now wrinkled little envelope home.
Don’t worry, I’m not about to give up on this good deed. Tomorrow I’ll call them first for directions … or bring a camel.