Two weeks back, I sent off a 17kg box of books home, with my textbooks from the semester, the books I had bought, and all the notes I had from class.
Today, the package arrived.
Oh no, what happened? What did they do with my books? My notes? Carrying the box back to my new place, I couldn't help but wonder what was missing. Why on earth was it possible for me to carry this box so effortlessly when back in Ferrara I had had to stop every 20 metres on my way to the post office?
Opening the box I discovered that my photocopies for all my classes was gone, and a great deal of my books had been taken away. I am missing half the tomes for my art history and literature manuals. And I even got a book that I have never seen in my life.
So that's what happens when you trust the Italian postal service: they slash your box, take your books and burn your photocopies (ones over which I pored to glean meaning, ones that I cherished, ones that are now lost). You pay 66 euro to send the package and they screw you over. Maybe the final f-you from Italy was what I need to more fully embrace Cambridge Mass once again.
But if you think of it, it's really quite funny, in that screwed up, chaotic, Italian way. Mamma mia! Non ci posso credere.