I live in a large, age-restricted retirement community in the city of Peoria, a suburb of Phoenix, Arizona. To make it easier for postal delivery personnel, there’s a large bank of locked postal boxes located at curbside every block or so in each neighborhood. The residents walk, drive, or ride golf carts to the P.O. boxes once a day to pick up their mail. Even older people nowadays use e-mail for corresponding to friends and family, so the snail mail consists mostly of flyers for financial advisors, ads for hearing aids and erectile dysfunction medication, plus maybe a few utility bills.

Beneath the rows of mailboxes are a half-dozen locked boxes large enough for parcels––usually things we’ve purchased on line, or gifts from nieces, nephews, and grandchildren. When someone receives a package, the letter carrier places it in one of the locked parcel boxes, and puts a key in the recipient’s mailbox. Then what happens––supposedly––the homeowner uses that special key to open the parcel box and remove the surprise package. The operative word here is “supposedly.”

In the last month, I have received three packages––a gift from a grandchild for Mother’s Day, a book entitled, “How to Outline Your Novel,” and a video from The Great Courses, “How Black Holes are Formed.” (I have eclectic tastes.) In each case, the key provided by the postal employee DID NOT OPEN THE PARCEL BOX. I returned the key to my mailbox with a handwritten note explaining my dilemma. The first time this happened, the letter carrier gave me a different key to an older parcel box that opens easily. The second time, I received a sarcastic note from the carrier saying she didn’t understand why I couldn’t open the box––she had no problem. However, she did give me a key to the older, easy-to-open box.

This Saturday, it happened again. A parcel box key was placed in my mailbox. I tried with all my might, but the key would not work. I even swallowed my pride and asked the man next door to help me. He wiggled the key, turned it upside down, said a few choice words, but could not get the box to open. I didn’t want to receive another nasty-gram from the postal worker so I went home, planning an assault on the Post Office Tuesday morning (Monday’s a holiday).

Today, Memorial Day, I made a decision. I am not the kind of person who throws up her hands and says, “Oh, well, I guess I’ll just have to put up with it.” I am a determined woman who believes in the saying, “I am the master of my fate.” So I loaded up the car with a stool to sit on while I worked on the task of opening the parcel box, a can of WD-40 to loosen any rust in the lock mechanism, a pair of pliers to get a good grip on the key, and a vow not to go home without my parcel.

To make a long story short (I know…too late!), my plan of attack worked, and I drove home with my parcel. The lesson I hope the reader will get from this blog is this: “Women don’t have to be wimps, no matter what age. Be determined. Decide what you want to accomplish, gather all the tools you will need to do the job, and vow not to give up until the task is accomplished.

Oh…and it helps to realize that, despite the old adage, “lefty loose-y, righty tight-y,” some keys turn to the right to open the lock.