The package pickup

Five months into life in Ukraine, I received my first package notification: “Pick up your package at Post Office 121”, no address given. I knew that there is a post office just down the street, so the next Monday I(along with my visiting sister-in-law) went to pick up my package. Wrong post office. We asked where post office 121 is and were told it is near the store “Kopyeika”. I know where that is, but since it's at an intersection, we asked which street it's on, Glushko or Marshalla Zhukova? I guess one question was the limit, because we got an angry response of, “Girls, it's in the field of Kopyeika!” Er, the field? There are no fields anywhere around here, so I knew I was probably in for a small search.

Later in the day came the opportunity for attempt number two: find the “field” where the post office is located. I walked down to Kopyeika and started looking all around, but to no avail. There was no post office to be seen anywhere, only row after row of small stores and flats. So I started asking people, “Excuse me, can you tell me where post office 121 is?” Apparently, my third eye had popped out on my forehead, because no one would stop to answer my question. Some would listen for a second, shake their head and keep walking. Others would just shake their head as soon as I opened my mouth. Finally, a young woman was kind enough to stop, listen and direct me across the intersection to the post office, which was hidden behind construction walls. I'm still not sure how that was in the same “field” as Kopyeika, but at least I found it.

I walked up to the door, only to find it locked. I looked back at the notice I had received, which told me that the lunch break was from 12-1. It was now 1:40, so I wasn't sure what was going on, until I read the sign, which said that lunch was from 1-2. sigh. So I went on a walk. Twenty-five minutes later, I returned for attempt number three, only to find a sign up that said something was happening after 2pm. Calling my brother, I found out that they were doing inventory and had closed the post office for the rest of the day. So, feeling slightly discouraged at this point, I trudged home.

Attempt number four came two days later, with just enough time to take a fast walk to the post office, collect the box and get back in time for a team lunch. I was determined to get that package. This time, I was happy to see the front door open. I patiently waited in line, got to the front, handed over my filled out paperwork and my passport. The woman glanced at it, handed it back to me, and told me that packages are picked up in a different place, around the corner. So around the corner I went and found a closed door. After knocking on the door, I showed the slip to a babushka who parted the curtains. She took one look at it, screamed, “Lunch!” and pulled the curtains closed again. After muttering a few words about service with a smile, I grudgingly turned around and made my way home, once again empty handed.

Along the way I pondered all that I had learned in this seemingly simple task of picking up a package:

1)Persistence is key to achieving anything in this country, 2)Politeness isn't something you're born with, it's something you're taught, 3)Waiting builds anticipation. I don't think I've ever wanted a package so much, 4)the package pickup place is really sketchy looking, even if a grandma is in charge, 5)when grandma is having lunch, you'd bother not bother her!, 6)living here is character and patience building.

Attempt number five: SUCCESS!! And though I really didn't win anything, having merely figured out the rules of the system, I found myself strutting victoriously home singing, “Weeeee are the champions, my friend!!”