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good (sort of) neighbors

To be clear, the parenthetical in the title is meant to modify "neighbors", not "good". Got it?

Because this evening, we got a phone call from someone whose name we didn't recognize, but it was a local number so I picked up. The other end of the line was someone looking for Harvey, or at least wondering if there was a Harvey at this number. Somewhat startling to me, as I don't expect the baby to be taking calls for at least another couple months, but there was a logical explanation: this gentleman had received a package for a Harvey Archibald, delivered in error to his address by Federal Express.

That made sense, once he told me his own address. It's only one letter different from our own, and we've gotten his mail before—or at least it would have been his mail if he and his family had lived at that address at that time. In that case, though, it was the post office's fault: their machines misread the addresses. This time our correspondent actually wrote the wrong street name on the label. So this kind fellow took the trouble to call FedEx in puzzlement, and then (either from them or by looking in the local phone book, I forgot to ask which) find us and give us a call. He even offered to drive the package over! But I told him I already knew the way to his house, so I'd come get it.

So I got to meet him and his family, which was nice because they've got a story to top any mis-delivered mail: the school bus driver once tried to drop their younger daughter off at our address here instead of her own. Now that we know each other, I've promised to send her right home if that ever happens again.

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