We’ve been at war with the short-term apartment people in the neighboring county. The place we need to move in order for Jill to adopt Noah, giving him 2 legal parents. It’s completely ridiculous, and we finally raised the white flag of surrender and gave notice.

Here’s what happened: We rented a fancy apartment in a cool downtown condo building. We’ve never lived in a place like that, and the next time it’ll even be an option will be after Noah and his future hoped for sibling finish college. So why not? He’s small enough it still works. And it would be incredibly convenient for both of our jobs!

Because we now live in a metro area with a traditional real estate market, instead of the insanity of the DC area, things go on the market for awhile before people buy them. So there is a niche business of "staging" houses and condos to make them appealing to buyers. Our lease was with such a company; the actual owner has moved far away.

The problem is that NO ONE has a key for the mailbox, and apparently, NO ONE can get one!!! We’ve been trying for 6 weeks? How are we supposed to function in a place if we can’t get any mail there? Gee, judge, we didn’t mean to miss the hearing, but we didn’t get the notice in the mail. Gee, mortgage company, we’d like to pay your bill but we didn’t get it in the mail.

First, Jill asked the staging company for the key to the mailbox.

They didn’t have it. They said they’d look into it. Then they told her to contact the post office to get it.

What? This is the condo building’s mailbox we’re talking about — not a PO Box.

They’re sure.

OK, we call the local post office. Yes, they deliver to that building. And yes, some very old buildings operate like that, but we have to speak to Mr SoAndSo to find out if our building is one of those. (Since it’s a renovated modern loft, we are doubtful.)

No, Mr SoAndSo is not there now, call back tomorrow morning between 9-11 am.

At 10:15 am, I call. (Well, first I dial a wrong number, because sometimes Jill’s handwriting is a little unclear. Fortunately, the man whose cell phone I called and left a message on called me back.)

I call again the next day. No, Mr SoAndSo is not there. He’s never there this late. I should call back between 6:30 and 8:30 am. Yes, he’s the only person who could deal with any kind of mailbox key issue.

Jill calls Mr SoAndSo around 7 am the next morning. He doesn’t think he has any key responsibility for that building, but he’ll double check while he’s on his route that day.

Nope. He doesn’t have any individual keys for that building. Try the management company.

Jill eventually gets directed to the temporary resident manager of the building. The real resident manager is away somewhere for several weeks.

Nope, they don’t have mailbox keys either. We should get the key from the unit owner.

Back to the staging company. Can we get the key from the unit owner, your client?

We’ll see and get back to you.

<insert the sounds of crickets chirping for at least a week>

Staging company, about that key to the mailbox?

Gosh they’re sorry, but they’re still working on it.

Gosh, we’re sorry, but we NEED TO GET MAIL. We need to live somewhere in which GETTING MAIL is no big deal.

Fortunately, once we realized what a problem this mailbox key was becoming, we quit moving stuff over there. We may celebrate Easter by shlepping stuff back and leaving it in our garage until we begin this cycle all over again.

Are those not some of the ugliest words in the English language? "Until we begin this cycle all over again." Arggggghhh!