Mail, or so we thought

Kristie and I have been religiously checking the little box outside of our apartment door labeled "Mail." Making what we thought was a fairly conservative assumption, we decided that it was the mailbox. Days went by. When our library cards weren't showing up, I blamed the library. When we weren't getting any advertisements, I thanked the lack of local business. When my boy at home claimed to have sent two cards already, I chalked it up to a "the check's in the mail" kind of excuse. But when the electric company called me to tell me that our bills weren't getting through, I got worried. So, I showed up at the local post office.
Now, in the past few years, I've gotten used to not fitting in. I lived in Montreal, not speaking a word of French. I moved to DC, and still can't name my Congressional Representative. Heck, I lived in St. Thomas as a white person. Here in Alaska, I stand out pretty strongly, due to tendency to wear vaguely clean shirts, my even-toned hair, and my distinct lack of a Carhart suit. So, I went into the post office, armed with a big smile, and knowing that I stood out like a sore tourist.
"Hi!" I said. "I just moved here with my friend a couple weeks ago, and we have this box labeled 'mail' outside of my door, which we foolishly assumed was a 'mailbox.' Now, we haven't gotten a single piece of mail. Where do you think we went wrong?"
"Did you sign up for service?" the nice man asked.
"No, how do I do that?" I responded.
Three forms later, I was just a phone call and a day away from receiving mail.

That is just one of the further adventures we've had in Kenai. In other news, Kristie was hired right away at Home Depot. The only real negative point of the interview was when the interviewer said, quite confidently, "I think you'll really fit in well here!" Kristie looked to her left, looked to her right, and saw mustaches... on the women. Her heart sank. What had 3 weeks in Alaska done to her!??!