Don't say "stupid", say "challenging"

Where to begin? This past week has been interesting. Things (emotionally, mentally, whatever) are on the upswing for me: I'm beginning to see Moldova and my work here in a new light, namely, it has begun to feel like a challenge that I want to overcome, or perhaps a game I want to win. Lately when obstacles or inconveniences pop up, I find myself thinking, Ah ha ha, you'll have to try harder than that! I'm going to prevail and achieve SOMETHING here...whatever the hell that might be.

But now, onto recent events. Ah yes, my experience with the local postal service. The other day I came home and saw a notice that I'd received a package from the US. Hurrah! You can only pick up packages at the post office on Tuesdays and Fridays, so I eagerly looked forward to pick-up time. I left my worksite to meet my host mom at the nearby post office, as she'd offered to help me with the process.

Once it was my turn, and we figured out which counter to go to, I slid the notice accross counter along with my identification document. Right now I'm without a passport, as all us new volunteers gave them to PC so they can get us some new type of identification card. The woman looked at my paper skeptically but finally agreed to accept it. Then I had to put all this information - passport number, address, my signature - on the back of the notice. After more discussion with host mom, the woman eventually disappeared into the back room and came out with my package.

Then we had to move over to the next window, where a very serious man wearing some police-like uniform began scrutinizing the box I'd received, turning the package over in his hands and examining every side of the box with a look of the utmost concentration. "What is he doing?" I whispered to host mom, tapping my foot to try to keep myself from grabbing the box and running for the door.

At last he set the package on the counter. I was about to scoop it up and be on my way when I saw him reach for a pair of scissors.
"What's in here?" he asked me, frowning at the box. He may as well have said, "What did I have for breakfast this morning?" How should I know? "I don't know," I said, looking at him like a crazy person, "it's probably American candy or Christmas presents."
"You don't know?" Apparently displeased, he cut the box open and asked me to show the contents. Fishing around in the packing material, I came upon a bobble-headed Santa Claus my mom had sent me. "Here, see?" I said, waving it in front of him triumphantly. Then, realizing I wanted to avoid this nonsense in the future, I decided it might be nice to have him on my side, so I thought I'd him a bit about myself and what I'm doing here. "By the way, here's my card, I'm a Peace Corps volunteer from America," I said.

Not willing to be beat -- assuming I had, somehow, beat him at his very serious game of interrogating Christmas package recipients -- he asked, "Aha, and why do you not speak Romanian!" I explained that a few of us volunteers study Russian, while the vast majority study Romanian. He thought this over for a bit, then finally nodded and smiled, thanking me for my card. "So," he said, "How do you like Moldova?'

Once home, I tore into the resealed box, pulling out...wait...a bunch of partially-wrapped presents? WTF? Can someone please tell me why the postal employee had to bother me about the contents of a package that had already been completely opened and examined? I assume everything was there -- bobble-headed Santa, foil-covered chocolates, gifts and all -- but nevertheless it felt like such a basic violation of my privacy. Thinking of all the letters people back home have sent that I have never received, and the long-delayed packages friends have gotten, I thought to myself, You know, I bet the mail arrive sooner if you didn't waste time opening people's christmas presents!

Since the packages had all been opened and then sloppily taped back together, giving me enticing glimpses of their contents, I used this as an excuse to open everything. I might regret it come December 25th, but I tore them open anyway. I'm glad I did, too, because it was a bunch of clothes just the sort I'd been pining for. Somehow I didn't think to bring sweatpants and comfy stuff like that, and it's cold in my apartment, so now thanks to my early presents (thanks mom!) I can wrap myself in the fuzzy loveliness of workout pants and hoodies instead of borrowed sweaters from host mom or jeans with wool tights underneath. Hurrah again!