The Tale of the Milk (and why it brought the police knocking on my door today)

You always hear these post 9/11 post office horror stories. People, particularly those that must deal with packages, are leery of anything that looks, smells, or feels funny. Who wouldn't be? I confess to a few seconds of paranoia when I receive a package that I wasn't expecting. My curiosity, of course, always gets the best of me and I open it anyway, joking that if I die as a result, my sister and husband should prepare for a haunting.

At any rate, you never really expect to be the cause of those fears boiling to the surface. And so, today has been both highly amusing and highly... unusual in this particular household.

My sister pumps breastmilk for both of the little kids (Alo and Aybra). She has also crammed our freezer full of breastmilk. Since our deep freeze kicked the proverbial bucket a few months ago and we've been too busy to go buy another one, we've been desperate to free up a little room for the endless supply of frozen veggies and fish we like to keep on hand. So... she's taken to donating some of her frozen breastmilk to families that either can't breastfeed or simply don't get enough breastmilk to breastfeed.

She's mailed several hefty packages out to grateful families thus far and hasn't had an issue. The package she sent a few weeks ago was, unfortunately, reduced to garbage when it was broken open during shipping. The postal delivery man regretfully informed the recipient that the breastmilk had been completely ruined during shipping and there was no hope of salvaging it. Disappointing, but it happens.

When sis went yesterday to mail another hefty package, she taped that sucker so much you'd have thought it was a portable Fort Knox. No way was she letting it break open again. Breastmilk, as she tells me, is golden. She was hoping that the package would get to its destination with no problems and another family would be able to feed a newborn for a few weeks with no worries.

That, as you've undoubtedly guessed, wasn't to happen.

Just a bit ago a police cruiser pulled up outside of our apartment. The officer peeked over the patio fence where I was wandering aimlessly and asked if I was Khourt. I told him no and directed him around to the front door where he could find sis and the wee one in the living room watching television. I decided to go see what was up and to hold the baby while she talked to him.

He knocked on the door. She opened it.

"Are you Courtney Schulist?"

"Yes, sir."

"We've received a call from the U.S. Postal Inspector in Oakland, California." He extends a piece of paper.

She takes the paper and looks at him expectantly.

"It seems that a package you mailed has broken open and is leaking. They're unable to deliver it because they don't know what it is. The Postal Inspector has asked us to come find you so that you can call her."

Khourt looks down at the paper in confusion and then nods and says thanks. The police officer strolls away and she closes the door and begins looking for the phone. I'm sitting on the couch, holding Aybra thinking ut-oh, they broke her package again. She is, no doubt, thinking the same thing. We're both clueless about the drama that has already unfolded over the course of several hours.

She recovers the phone and dials the number. She tells whoever answers who she is and that a police officer has asked her to call. The Postal Inspector General chick gets on the telephone and informs sis that her package was, indeed, slightly damaged and had begun to leak this very morning.

The people at the post office didn't know what it was, so they called the Inspector General woman that sis is now speaking too. She, in turn, calls the "federal police" as she tells sis (no clue what that means, maybe FBI or homeland security or some such). They call the police here in Little Rock to come find sis. While they are waiting, someone somewhere gets the idea to go ask the recipient of the package what it is because they can't figure it out.

The post office here told sis they would put a note on the package that it was breastmilk... they didn't do it so everyone in Oakland is clueless as to what it is leaking out of the package and if they need to call Hazmat and order an evacuation. So back to that bright idea... they, thankfully get inventive before going through such a show and go to the address listed as the recipient to ask if she is expecting a package from sis. She apparently tells them that she was and what was in the package.

They decide it's okay to go ahead and deliver the package. No Hazmat necessary. Only, no one at the post office is willing to risk touching it and being killed by the incredibly suspicious leaking breastmilk even though it has now been cleared. The Inspector woman says to hell with it and personally delivers the package to the newborn babe waiting for the milk while the police here are still trying to track sis down.

Apparently, the officer had come out early this morning and no one answered the door which made the entire situation even more worrisome (Aybra had to go to the doctor this morning which is why no one answered the door). So, by the time he finally got us to the door this afternoon, the drama had already unfolded and the terroristic breastmilk had already been delivered.

I'm not sure if it's more hysterically funny or if it's a sign of how paranoid we've become. And all I can think is that poor woman that sis donated the milk too is probably now terrified of feeding it to her child. Goddess knows, if the police and postal inspector knocked on my door to inquire about a package and then had to hand deliver said package because the delivery people were too scared to touch the package... I'd certainly have second thoughts about feeding it to my baby.

I'm trying valiantly to contain my desire to roll on the floor laughing at how absurd the entire situation is because in reality, it's really not that funny. But... I'm not particularly winning either. I know it's not really all that funny, but as soon as I begin to envision postal people running for cover because a cooler containing breastmilk is leaking, laughter bubbles anyway.

But seriously, fault for the broken package aside, I really feel for the people that work at the post office. It has to be hard to come across a leaking package and not know if your life is in danger as a result. Thank goodness that this time it was just breastmilk and not something potentially fatal! It could have been so much worse than a package of innocent breastmilk sent with good intentions.

For those of you mailing something that may potentially leak, remember to always always write on the package what it contains and not to expect that the people at the post office will do so when you tell them what it is. They may forget. And this may result. As amusing as it probably all sounds; I doubt it was at all funny while they were trying to sort it out. It brings a whole new appreciation of the postal service and the things they must endure.