Delivery services are a pain in the butt.

I get my snail mail at a post office box, and when I checked it yesterday, I had a nice stack of mail. Two pieces were notices of some kind, one of which I immediately recognized as a request to pick up certified mail at the window. Curious, I stood in line for the window, not knowing what to expect.

To pass the time, I looked over the other notice. It was a cheap white postcard with rough perforated edges and dot-matrix print; it was apparently from UPS, telling me that they attempted to deliver a package from Bookstar but couldn’t complete the delivery because I had a PO box as an address — no duh. In the meantime, if I so desired, I could go out of my way over a package I wasn’t expecting and contact them between such and such a time Monday through Friday about it. Or, if they didn’t hear from me by such and such a date, they will return the package to the sender.

That “such and such a date” — I noticed to my chagrin — happened to be three days prior.

Great, I thought. I guess I’ll just have to call Bookstar about whatever the heck it is they sent. I wondered briefly why no one bothered to stop and think, after seeing my PO box address, “Hmmm. Maybe I shouldn’t send this via UPS.”

But who was I to judge?

It was right about that time that I arrived at the post office window and presented my notice for the certified mail. The clerk went in the back to get it, and I blithely signed the forms and went my way.

The piece of certified mail was actually a legal-sized, manilla-colored envelope padded with bubble wrap. The return address included the name Bookstar, so I guessed right away that it was the package that UPS tried to deliver. Wondering what could merit such costs in shipping and handling, I opened the envelope to find yet another envelope — one that was smaller and thinner, and looked like all the other mail I typically get, the kind that costs only 34 cents to send.

34 cents.

Inside the smaller envelope was my bookstore membership card, and nothing else. No check for a million. No credit card. Nothing of any real value. Just a membership card.

For this, they paid UPS to send me a “Sorry we couldn’t deliver” note and the USPS a fee for certified mail — an estimated five dollars for each service, a total of ten dollars.

Ten dollars — for something they could easily have sent by regular mail for a mere 34 cents.

Who in Hades is running Bookstar, anyway? Barnes & Noble, sure — but don’t they know any better?

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