Packing up and moving out. If that's all I'm writing about these days, it's because it's all I'm doing. And as appealing as the prospect of living elsewhere seemed only a few days ago, I have to confess that the actual details of moving generate somewhat less enthusiasm.
It's not as if anything has gone wrong so far. I called the utility company, and the entire transaction took less than five minutes. Gas and electricity are being switched at both the old and new locations exactly as I requested. Today I rented a post office box for the Company, and got exactly what I wanted.
There's been some discussion about mail with the Boss. I asked him if he had any strong feelings one way or the other about whether the Company needed a box, and at first he didn't. As usual, though, he thought it over and came up with a different conclusion.
I was a bit conflicted myself about it. A box would mean I would legitimately get out of the house at least once a day to collect the mail. On the other hand, a box would mean I'd have to get dressed, put some shoes on, fire up my 1988 Honda Civic, and drive once a day from my new rustic retreat to the nearest postal station at least once a day. I'm weighing the convenience of having everything delivered to my door against the excuse of being away from the phone and the computer for a brief daily respite. There was no clear advantage either way, in my mind.
The Boss didn't care, he said at first, but then he thought it over. The next day he told me that he thought it would be safer for me if we had a box. Why should my address be part of the public record, so that anyone looking for the business could find out where I live and come knocking at my door? There's no reason for that, when there's the optional shield provided by a post office box.
I had to agree with this assessment. I framed it differently, though. To me, the real reason for a level of removal from the Company's mailing address is that the Boss tends to piss people off. I mean, really piss people off, to the extent that they come looking for him, with havoc and mayhem on their minds. It would not be a good thing for them to be in this frame of mind, looking for the Boss or his nearest representative, and find me, at my home in the country, unprepared for either havoc or mayhem. I wouldn't want to be afraid to answer the door.
So today I found the post office nearest my new home and rented a box. They had what I needed, and the clerk who helped me even recognized me. She had worked at my current post office for some time, and we remembered each other from there. It was actually the Company's name that triggered her memory. Before she saw that, she knew only that I looked familiar. I get that a lot.