A reader who asked not to be identified writes:
Early last Friday I wrote a few checks.
I wanted to get them in a downtown mailbox by 3 p.m. pickup. (Since residents have had a lot of checks taken out of personal mailboxes and rewritten, I like to put them in the drop box. I also needed to run a couple of errands.
So I hopped in the car, put the envelopes on a little shelf below the odometer, and headed off.
I put the envelopes in the mail drop box and headed to my next stop, to see how my boat was riding out the weather.
i pulled into a handicap spot at the Longshore Marina (I’m a very senior citizen), reached to get the handicap pass which I keep on that shelf — and there was no pass.
I searched elsewhere in the car, then realized I had inadvertently put it with the the envelopes into the mail slot.
I drove straight to the Westport post office. The line was out the door, so I went home to call them.
The number on the website was incorrect. I headed back to the post office. Fortunately, by 3:45 there was no line.
I explained the problem to the counterman, Chuck. He said I had to call the annex in Norwalk, which collects from the mailboxes. He gave me the number.
I figured, instead of going home I should go to the annex myself, a little before the Westport Avenue fire station en route to Stew Leonard’s.
I parked and rang the bell. A young man opened the door. I explained the problem.
He said, “It’s amazing to see you here. Twenty minutes ago I pulled the handicap pass out of the mail.”
He had already gone to the trouble of contacting the Connecticut Department of Motor Vehicles,, gotten my name and address, and put the pass in an envelope to mail to me.
He walked to the back, opened the mailer and handed me my handicap pass.
I tried to tip him. He said, “No. I’m just doing my job. Have a great weekend!”
This young man is a saint. I surely want him on my team.
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