I’ve been so harried and have brain fog from mold illness. For months I had been having neurological issues and going through medical tests, including multiple MRIs and a spinal tap. Finally, when my doctor asked if where I lived could possibly have mold, something clicked. The old HVACS were indeed moldy (from 1960). After testing both myself and my apartment, we found four types of toxic mold. Then, coincidentally, the aforementioned HVAC flooded the apartment. So, if I didn’t have mold before that, I certainly had it then.

As a result, I spent this summer transient, staying at hotels, Airbnbs, and friends’ apartments, during a long-drawn-out battle with my building’s management company.

I was not thinking clearly due to stress and medical issues.

One recent weekend I was racing around doing errands before a friend was going to show up to help me move some furniture. With my dachshund Biggie Smalls in tow, I headed to the bank in the morning to cash a $1,000 work check. I deposited half and took five one-hundred-dollar bills and put them in a plain white Chase Bank envelope. It started raining, so I was rushing because if my dog’s ears get wet, she often ends up with expensive ear infections

After a few other errands, I returned to my block and realized I still had my phone bill in my purse that I had been forgetting to mail. So, I ran back a block to the blue USPS box on the corner and mailed it.

When I got back upstairs and entered my apartment, while balancing Biggie and an iced decaf in my hands, I went into my big tote bag to put my keys back on the hook at the front door and saw my phone bill still in my bag! WTF? I know I mailed it. Was I losing my mind? Surely, I couldn’t be this disoriented! But doh! It turns out I mailed the blank envelope with the $500 in it. I waited for my friend to arrive and explained I was having a disaster. He was nice enough to start moving furniture while I ran out with Biggie to the local post office on Third Avenue to see if they could alert the pick-up driver that I had accidentally put something valuable in that mailbox.

The mailbox said the pickup time on Saturdays was at 1 pm. It was still 10:30 am so I was in a race against time.

The local post office was totally unhelpful. I was told they had nothing to do with the collection box pickup and the clerk suggested I walk to the bigger USPS office at 229 East 85th Street. I started running there in the rain. As I was running, I also called the USPS toll-free number. It took forever and their automated teller lead me in circles. Finally, I got a live person who also couldn’t help. She said they did not have a number to the office responsible for New York City collection box pick-ups.

After standing on a long line at the main Upper East Side post office branch, I was in full panic and had tears in my eyes. I eventually spoke to a supervisor who said they had nothing to do with pickups of collection boxes either. No one seemed to know how to contact the office that controls blue box mail pickup in NYC.

There was nothing to do but try to file a form for lost mail. She said all unaddressed envelopes eventually go to a national office. Ugh! There was no way I was going to get this blank envelope back. My money was gone.

Five hundred dollars was a lot to lose, particularly because in addition my mounting medical costs, the mold and apartment flood also had caused devastation to my personal belongings. Not to make a mountain out of a mold hill, but I had lost most of my winter clothing, my bed, couch, etc. I was also paying for expensive temporary housing while displaced. The last thing I needed to do was literally throw money away.

I went back to my temp home dejected but then had an idea. I’d make a poster and stick it on the collection box over the keyhole so the pickup mailman would see it. I wrote my name, address, and cell number and explained that by mistake I had put a blank envelope filled with something I didn’t want to mail in the box. I planned to return to the scene and stand outside the mailbox from 12-to-1pm, hoping I could catch the letter collector and plead my case.

At 11:10 am I ran out with tape and my poster. It was now pouring rain. I taped the note. As I was standing there a huge white USPS truck pulled up and a mailman got out and angrily asked me why I was taping stuff to the box. I was shocked! I quickly asked him if he was the person who picks up the Saturday mail and he said yes. I explained that I had mistakenly put an unaddressed envelope with money in it and asked why he was there nearly two hours early if pick-up was 1 pm. He said it is just a guideline and if I had come any later that I would have completely missed him. He opened the box and there were only four envelopes in there, including mine. I told him he’d know it was really mine because there were five crisp $100 bills in there. I showed him my ID and he gave me my money.

I have never been so happy and relieved. It was truly a miracle on 94th Street!

***

Kelly Kreth is a freelance writer who often feels trapped in a Seinfeldian Hell. She’d like people to love her for her flaws, not in spite of them. That rarely happens. You can read more by her at: youmightaswell.tumblr.com