[Newspoetry] Send no cash through the mail.

[DL Emerick]

Send no cash through the mail.

When I was a student at MIT back in the late 60's, I had a job -- or actually several different ones.  First, I worked in dining hall, then in a short-order diner.

I upgraded to an office aide in a CIA-affiliated research group.  My job there was to run the mimeograph machine, reproducing reports being written by the research staff.  I took the liberty to make myself a copy of all the reports, and would take them home and read them, in the evenings or on week-ends when I had time.  The work of that outfit was rather like the group depicted in Three Days of the Condor, an old and excellent Robert Redford thriller.  (But, nobody came in and shot us all up -- I guess we never found anything that threatened the internal security of the counter-intelligence group that always has a secret life inside an intelligence organization.)

Then, I finally got a cushy job as an aide to the staff director of the Alumni office.  In that job I was a gopher -- go-for this or that... go out to visit a rich alumni's widow, escort a very wealthy alumni widow around campus (McCornmick's widow), attend an alumni conference and see that attending alums get their reading materials (books, papers and such), help keep up the vast old card-file system on all allumni, their adresses, their employers, and their contributions and pledges.  (And, keep your hands of the other clerks and secretaries (all female) -- which I didn't quite do -- though I only got steered away from one girl, an extremely good looking young black woman, with a fabulous sense of humor to match her good looks (but then, maybe I exaggerate her wit, under the enamour of her body)).)  It was a cushy job.

Just before Rosh Hoshana, I walked into a office furniture store and saw this gorgeous oak desk.  (Interesting that I use the term gorgeous to describe both women and desks.)  But, it was more expensive than I really could afford -- four hundred fifty dollars, as I recall it.  The two gentlemen who ran the store came over to talk with me -- to close the sale.  They said, "Look it's our holiday -- buy it at $300!  and we'll throw in that desk chair!"  I succumbed to my lust and bought the desk.  It is still is with me, all these years later and has been an excellent thing of beauty to work upon and to live with.

Well, anyway, I told them that I would send the money for the desk in a couple of days, and they could arrange delivery after that.  They insisted on making delivery that day, before sunset, anyway.  What a nice gesture -- no money down, and instant delivery!  I spent the evening almost sleeping on top of my new desk -- polishing its wood, smelling its newsness, proud in all ways of my fine new possession.

On pay-day a couple of days later, I took my pay-check over to the Bursar's and converted it to cash.  And, then, stupidly, naively, wrapped three $100 bills in a piece of paper, stuffed it in an envelope and mailed it to the furniture guys.

they called me a few days after that and said, "Hey, laddie, we thought you were going to pay us right away.  Where's the money you promised?"  I almost panicked -- but I told them I had sent the money in the mail.  "What!" they said, "You didn't send cash, did you?"  "Yes, yes, I did that."  "Oh, well, come over and see us and we'll arrange some other way for you to pay."  We worked out an easy pay, no interest $25/week 12-week recovery plan.

They also suggested that I contact postal authorities, to report the loss of money in the mail.  I went down to the local post office.  They sent me to a postal investigator elsewhere.  He took down my story.  I had pretty precise dates and places to give him.  And, I had his advice, also, "Look sonny, never be a chump like this again -- don't send cash through the mail -- you might as well throw it in the garbage can!"  Hmmm, that gave me a lot of faith in the US Postal System!

A few more weeks came and went -- or time passed me by, although I can not recall today whether it dragged its feet slowly, or sped past me in a blur.  At length, let us say, I had a call from the postal investigator.  He mentioned a story in the Boston newspapers that day.  A local postal employee had been arrrested, for pilfering mail.  He'd been doing it for years.  When they arrested him, he had hundreds or thousands of enveloped and cartons stuffed in one of the rooms where he lived -- all of them empty, now.  He had been afraid to let the evidence leave his home.

The postal investigator said, "Your fine report enabled us to track this guy down to a T -- we'd been looking for this guy, trying to find him for years, because of other complaints that we had had."

"So, do I get my $300 back, or some of it?  Do I get a reward?"

"Nope, sorry, son, we can't verify the amount you actually sent -- and we didn't recover that much cash or property.  Just a piece of bad luck for you.  I'm sorry -- but at least you can take pride in knowing you helped put the bad guy away."

So, I paid $300 for that lesson in life -- what a deal!  I guess I'd say "I'm your Huckleberry!  Always a willing chump for duty and friends."