The Last Straw

I am fuming right now. 

“This came to my kitchen,” he said. We were down in the common room, quickly going through a singing project before having to perform it on Tuesday. That was the opening line that greeted me when I came down to join my group. In his hand, he held a yellow envelope with my name and address on it – only, the part that said “6.1/B” (which is my house and flat number) had been crossed out and said “6.4/H” instead (which was done by the reception people. They're way of "redirecting" letters). For a few seconds I could only stare perplexed. Then, as it dawned on me what this meant, a rush of freezing cold and scolding hot sensations washed over me. For the duration of our practice I was trembling; I didn’t know what to do with myself – I still don’t know what to do with myself. I’m just so incredibly pissed off right now I would, in all honesty, probably punch the next person to speak to me. 

Now, if what’s happened doesn’t make full sense to you, allow me to elaborate: 

I was forced to move flats. And, lucky me, it happened just before my birthday. Because of that, I went to the reception countless times to ask if I would receive my letters. Parcels I wasn’t so worried about, because we have to come and pick them up at the reception, but letters and smaller things are delivered to our kitchen. I asked if they had the whole post-thing sorted out, and if my letters would arrive safely to me. Each and every time they assured me that no, no letters would be delivered to flat 6.1 anymore, and yes, everyone knew about the move and the letters would be “redirected” to our current flats. No worries. 

I can remember so clearly all the times I went, and all the times they assured me. At the time I considered asking them to just hold on to all my letters so that I’d just come down to collect them at reception, just to be safe, but the reception people just kept assuring me. So I thought it was fine. I thought all my birthday letters would arrive safely and that I had nothing to worry about. 

It’s been six days since my birthday, and I haven’t received anything. I wasn't too worries, but then I came down to practice in the common room today; then I realized what has actually happened. The accommodation people have really fucked up big time now. Moving flats can be fixed; the bad way we’ve been treated can be ignored, but lost letters? They can’t be returned. Not if they’re long gone in countless rubbish bins. 

I have to wait until morning now for the reception people to come to work. I have to wait until tomorrow morning, knowing that my letters have probably been scattered around campus. Knowing that they have now probably been thrown away by people who don’t know me and therefore don’t give a shit about a stranger’s letter. 

Holy fuck, I’m so incredibly angry. Someone’s head is going to roll tomorrow.