"It's Like Blade Runner, Only Not that Romantic"

With my new duties as "pouchera" (mail commissioner?) came training on Friday as to how all the mail that comes into our mission office gets distributed around the mission. Throughout the week, packages and mail come from everywhere and are redistributed to everywhere ELSE. Missionaries send mail to other missionaries and to their "dejared" (left-behind) converts. Mail comes from families in South America and the United States. Teaching materials are ordered from Distribution and sent out to the missionaries. By the end of the week, there's a LOT of stuff that has to be boxed up and sent to the senior elder in each zone for further distribution to each district.

At 1:00, we went to our mission mailbox at the Correo Ecuador (right next to the mail jail) and picked up packages and mail. THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO ABIDES BY THE GREEN STICKER RULE. With the green sticker on the package, we simply sign for the mail, pay a small fee (it was $1.50 for about 9 packages) and away we went! It took all three of us to carry the mail and boxes. Then it took about 20 minutes to find an empty cab.

Back at the office, we started boxing up everything. Because it was my first time, poor Elder Hulse had to open one zone's box three times because he kept finding packages that were actually coming to us that I was trying to send out again. (They don't label things very well here.) Of course, every time he found one of those, there was mail that had to go to Tena--a box that was already closed. Sorry, Elder Hulse.

One of the high points of Friday's boxing-up process is that I almost sent back some inappropriate electronics that had been removed from a missionary's apartment. In my defense, how was I to know? It was in a black trash bag with his name on it--just like every other piece of "mail" that comes for missionaries. Elder Hulse saw the bag, picked it up, felt the contents and told me I probably didn't want to send that back. I thanked him for sparing me some significant embarrassment, and for sparing the missionary a head-scratching mixed message from the mission office.

When the boxing was concluded, and it was dark, a member with a little, tiny car came to pick us and our boxes up. We squeezed all the boxes, two tall elders, me, the driver and his friend into the little tiny car and drove to the bus station. I had the cash to pay for all the shipping fees charged by the various bus lines. (One bus goes to Tena, another to Otavalo, another to Riobamba, another to Esmeraldas, etc.) When we arrived at the bus station, Elder Hulse told me to leave my backpack in the car. I hopped out, wallet in hand, ready to observe and to pay. Elder Wanless told me that the bus station was not the safest place in the world and I shouldn't carry my wallet in my hand. Elder Hulse told me to take the money out and give it to him, and I gave him my wallet as well. He was wearing a long black trench coat, and he put the money in his coat pocket with his hand on it, and my wallet in his suit coat pocket, which was inside his trench coat. Francisco, our weekly helper, came out with his handcart, took our packages, and started delivering them to each bus line.

Then we moved out--quickly. The elders told me no one would bother them because they're tall. I stayed as close to them as I possibly could without violating mission rules. I watched people watch us, and it seemed like we would pass young men seated on benches who would look at (me) up and down, and my mind ran rampant. We practically ran from bus line to bus line, paying shipping fees. (Well, truthfully, they strode purposefully. I ran to keep up with them on my stubby short little legs.) Observing the surroundings, at one point I said, "Wow, this reminds me a lot of (the movie) Blade Runner, only not that romantic." They're 21. I doubt they've even seen Blade Runner.

Every package is addressed to "Elder." The shipping invoices are made out to "Elder." It turns out that the package can only be retrieved by the person to whom it is addressed, thus "Elder" works out very nicely.

After completing our rounds, we dove back into the safety of the car and I was dropped off at my condo a few minutes later. How profoundly grateful I am for President Lara's wisdom. He has told the elders that when I take over the pouch, the Assistants will be responsible for taking the mail to the bus station, not me. Yipppeee! It's not a trip I'd like to repeat.