Please, Mister Postman!

Part of living in a new place is learning how to communicate properly. Every town has their own way of doing things. When we lived in Toulouse, it was important to be overly polite when you were in a store, restaurant, or dealing with someone fixing things in your house, almost to the point of self-deprecation. When I lived in Israel, I realized being polite, waiting my turn in line or waiting to get on the bus, was not going to get me anywhere. If I didn’t assert myself, I was going to be trampled by the herd. I would describe Marseille as somewhere in-between Israel and Toulouse.

I have realized you need to be assertive, but you cannot lose your cool too much. And I’ve come to believe you can pretty much say whatever you want as long as you don’t raise your voice and you say it with a witty smile. “What you said is extremely offensive. I am not okay with that, you fucking asshole.” (Well, maybe you have to leave the last part out.)

Either way, practice makes perfect and I’m still practicing. The first step is to stop hesitating, just say something, anything! When someone says something insulting, instead of withdrawing from shock or trying to better the situation by kissing up to the person, the Toulouse way, I now say something back calmly but assertively. This doesn’t mean it gets me anywhere. But, maybe once I refine my technique more, I’ll get results that shine.

Enter Mr.Postman…I was expecting a package and it was pertinent to be at home between certain hours so I could sign for it. The delivery man had tried to deliver the day earlier and since I had been out with the girls, he was obligated to come again. At around 10am, I received a phone call, “Is this Madame Hossam at 22 boulevard Aigle,” asked a man.

“Yes,” I responded, “that’s correct.”

“Madame Hossam with Shanti Yoga Studio?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Let me just confirm. This is Madame Hossam with Shanti Yoga Studio at 22 boulevard Aigle.”

“Yes, that’s correct. Are you here?”

“No, I’m on my way. I just want to make sure this is the correct address.”

“Okay. When are you coming?”

“I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

“Okay,” I said. I went outside and taped one of my business cards to the mailbox as supposedly, they wouldn’t deliver if there wasn’t a name on my door. A woman from the delivering company had explained this to me earlier.

Twenty minutes past and my phone rang again. The man, once again, confirmed all the information and I too confirmed he was at the right place. I went to open the door for him and there he stood, somewhat annoyed it seemed, holding my package.

“Are you Mrs.Hossam with Shanti Yoga Studio,” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied wondering why this was becoming such a big deal.

“Well, I tried to deliver this package yesterday and a lady answered and said this wasn’t Shanti Yoga Studio and this wasn’t the right address.”

“We weren’t here yesterday, sir. So, there is no way someone could have spoken with you.”

“Madame, I came here yesterday and a woman answered and said I had the wrong address. I asked her if this was 22 boulevard Aigle, Shanti Yoga Studio and she told me there was no one living here named Mrs.Hossam and there was no Shanti Yoga.”

“But, no one was here yesterday,” I repeated, “So, unless there was a ghost…” I said light-heartedly.

He began to get frustrated and would not make eye contact with me. He wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead, “Oh, I guess I am crazy then,” he responded sarcastically shaking his head.

I hesitated before responding. “Sir,” I said and waited for him to look at me, “Either you are crazy or I am crazy.”

He was sticking to his story and I was sticking to mine. “Look, Madame, I’m telling you a lady answered this door yesterday and said I had the wrong address. This is 22 boulevard Aigle, right?”

“Yes,” I became exasperated and pointed to the big 22 just on the wall beside the man.

“Well, I came yesterday,” and he repeated his same story again. We weren’t getting anywhere. Then he added, “This business card wasn’t here yesterday, no name was here yesterday.”

“That is correct,“ I said, “I put the card up today for you. However, yesterday no one was home and therefore unless someone lives here of whom I am unaware, it is impossible that you spoke to someone.”

He shook his head, had me sign for the box and left. I tried to come up with some possible explanations.

The first one which is the most far-fetched is that a woman (or a man who can impersonate a woman’s voice) has a key to our house, even though we just changed our locks a month ago, and she saw me and the girls leave. She slipped into our garden and being the prankster she is, she answered our door and told the delivery man he had the wrong place! Then, she calmly locked the door behind her and chuckled to herself as she walked down the street, “Ha ha ha, that was funny!”

Or, my husband, who already works eight days a week, decided to drive 40 minutes from his work to our house while the girls and I were out. And let me add that if this happened, he also would have had to look into his crystal ball to see when the coast was clear. Assuming he did this, we can also assume he was giving some lady a quickie when the bell rang. He turns to his mistress and says, “Hurry! Answer the door and tell them they have the wrong house.” Then, the two of them manage to get out before we get home, the two of them chuckling, “That was a good one! The wrong house! Ha ha ha.”

I must admit there was a moment when I thought to myself, “What if my husband was home with some lady? But, would he be so dumb as to let her answer the door?”

Another simple explanation is he was simply trying to save face. The day before, he went to the wrong address, rang the wrong bell, and spoke to the wrong person without knowing it. He then went back to his company and told them a woman had in fact been home and she said it was the wrong address.

Well, considering the company did in fact call and confirm with me that it was the correct address but I had not been home when my package was delivered, he was forced to try and deliver again the next day to the exact same address and, you guessed it, he felt embarrassed.

This time, however, he went to the right address and realized, “Hey, this isn’t where I went yesterday. Shit!” So, he decided to stick to his original story to save face lest his boss ask how he managed to deliver the package to an address that was supposedly “wrong.”

I also think he called from work and that is why he was over-zealous confirming my name and address one hundred times…people were listening. He wanted his boss and colleagues to know he was not an idiot. He had not gone to the wrong house. See how careful he was confirming everything with the customer?

He realized it would be much better for him to stick to his story so he even reenacted it with me, pretending he had come to my house the day before. We had our bogus interaction that served his purpose because when he returned to work, he was able to report to his boss, “Yeah, it turns out that lady is insane. She told me it was the wrong address yesterday and today said it was the right one, can you believe that?”

Please, Mister Postman!