Tubas and Letters to Playboy: The Resolution

At long last: a resolution to the story of the mystery letter!

For those of you not following along, a brief recap:

On April 11, while walking home from work, I found a letter on the sidewalk at UT. The letter was addressed to Playboy and had not yet been mailed. I picked it up and took it with me, unsure of what to do about it. I was wildly intrigued and found this to be an extremely exciting situation. Friends offered various suggestions on what to do with the letter. I was shocked at how many people wanted me to open it. Though I had no problem kidnapping a random found letter, I refused to open it. It just felt too naughty.

Okay, now you're all caught up.

Because I am a lazy slowpoke, I took a while deciding what to do, and it took me a while to take action. That, and I kept forgetting about it, then I'd see it on my desk and slap myself in the forehead and say, "Mystery letter! What am I going to do about you?"

The best suggestion that didn't require me to potentially put my life in danger (after all, it would be weird just to show up and someone's doorstep with their unopened mail, right?) was to drop the mystery letter in another envelope and mail it back to its rightful owner.

To protect the identify of the sender, the sender's name will be called "H" from here on out.

Here is the letter:

Dear "H",

This is perhaps one of the oddest letters you will ever receive! Bear with me while I explain.

Several days ago (actually, Thursday, April 11), I was walking in the UT campus when I saw the enclosed letter on the ground. At first, I snapped a photo of it, then wondered if perhaps it included a check, so I was a bit concerned about leaving your mail unattended on the sidewalk. I looked around for an owner (or a hidden camera!), and didn't see either. I was unsure what to do – I tried finding you online to give you a call, because I felt unsure about dropping it in the post (what if you didn't want to mail it until a certain date, changed your mind, etc.?)

Given the rather “sensitive” address, I considered bringing your letter to your address, but wondered if you might want this private – who knows?! Knowing that opening someone else’s mail is a federal offense, I kept the mail with me in safekeeping (though my husband did attempt to peek inside and I stopped him!)

I’m a writer, and curious by nature, so I took the letter home with me, and wrote about it. You are welcome to check this out on neverwearanyoneelseshat.blogspot.com. To protect your identity, the information was hidden in the photo. You must admit this is a curious story and quite hilarious!

I am sorry that I have had it with me for nearly 2 weeks, but I simply didn't know what to do until one of my readers suggested that I mail it back to you. Brilliant!

I have one small favor. I would love to know the actual story if you are willing to share it. There are obviously many theories here – is it a simple subscription renewal, job application, hate letter? – I’d love to know the real story here if you’re willing to share it.

Best regards,

Amy Arndt,

Austin

I included my email address and the return address of my office, just in case the letter writer got really angry at me for kidnapping their mail, I would have a security guard at my disposal. Except our security guard looks like he works halftime as our building security guard and halftime as the tenor member of a barbershop quartet, so I'm unsure how much he could protect me if it came down to that.

By this morning, I had given up hope of ever hearing back from "H." And then, this afternoon, an emailed response!

I will not disclose the identity of the writer, but I will tell you what I suspected all along -- it was a woman! That tell-tale girly handwriting gave it away! Also, it's evident that this Miss "H" is not my age, because these young whippersnappers bust out with a lot of "lols." I would peg her to be in her early to mid 20's, as my cousins are this age and they do a lot of "lol"ing as well. Just an observation.

Here is the response. I changed one minor area to protect the workplace of the writer and the type of car they drive. Otherwise, here you have it:

Amy,

I must say, I am absolutely amused by the fact you found my letter to Playboy and even bothered to return it to me. I also found your blog about it absolutely hysterical! (I will also be following your blog now, if you don't mind.) :)

I don't wish to disappoint you, but all it is is a subscription with a check enclosed. I found a coupon for a year's worth of Playboy for $12 (and you returned it to me just in time, too, as it expired at the end of April! lol). Who could turn that down?! I could save face here and say that I was subscribing to it for my fiance, but I'm rather blase about such topics and will totally own to the fact that it was for my benefit, as well. I do enjoy the articles and find the beautiful, au-natural ladies gracing the pages to be an added bonus, as does my fiance too, I'm sure. lol 

I do actually work here at UT and park along where I assume you were taking a walk. I had the letter in my hand when I walked to my car so as to not to forget to mail it and didn't realize until I got home that I had lost it. (And to think I was being all efficient that day. Dammit! There went that! lol) When I realized that I must have lost it somewhere on campus, I had a vision of someone finding it and wondering about the Playboy address. Lo and behold, I get your package in the mail a few weeks later! 

Feel free to blog about my response if you wish for those that may want an update on the situation. 

Thanks for returning the subscription/check to me. If you want, I can send you a complimentary issue for the trouble you took to return the letter to me. ;) LOL
____

As you can imagine, I love this girl. She had me at "I'm rather blase about such topics," and won further admiration for being that type of gal who can subscribe to Playboy as a heterosexual female and not feel weird about it in the least. I have another friend who used to subscribe to Playboy before she started popping out babies. I always admired that, because the raciest thing I subscribe to is Bazaar. Not that I don't get a little tingle at the "Bath of the Month" section in House Beautiful, but I have a thing for huge showers.

The past few weeks have brought me several random adventures - the tuba incident, the mystery letter, and the girl I accidentally pocket friended on Facebook who accepted my friend request after we realized we already have a ton of things in common. I figure that's just the Universe delivering me things to write about, and that makes me happy.

So I suspect, and I hope, that I will someday meet this "H." Given that she's engaged to be married, at the very least, I hope "H" shares this story with her wedding party, and that someone tells this story in a toast at their rehearsal dinner. And that the happy couple has Playboy subscriptions in their future for years and years to come.

Tubas and Letters to Playboy

It's been a very unusual week.

Wednesday over lunch with colleagues, one of my coworkers told us that a neighbor in her condo community called her the other day, apologizing for practicing the trumpet. Lucky for the neighbor, she called a wildly open-minded person, who happily offered to get together with the trumpet-playing neighbor and have her over for a jam session (my coworker sings and plays the guitar). This resulted in a lot of trumpet-music-based questions such as, "What happens if she comes over and only knows the complete works of John Philip Sousa?" and "What if she only knows how to play 'Taps?'"

As those kind of conversations go, this led to another coworker telling us about when he was growing up, a neighbor kid was learning to play the tuba. The kid was around 10, and his mother made him practice the tuba on the back porch. Not that I blame the kid's mother, but this took place in West Virginia, so I can't imagine that kid had warm fingers when he was pounding out bass lines in the dead of winter.

I put all talk of trumpets and tubas behind me, and went on about my week. And, despite the fact that my father played the trumpet, we own a trumpet (and I don't actually remember why), I don't go around thinking about brass instruments on a regular basis.

Yesterday, while walking home, I was deep in thought. I was asking myself why I keep procrastinating on a book I'm trying to write, when I looked far down the sidewalk and did a double take. Coming towards me on the sidewalk by the stadium at UT was this guy:

That's pretty random, right? What is even more random was that I was completely okay with stopping him and asking to take his picture, while breathlessly telling him about the boy who was forced to practice the tuba outside. He's laughing in this pic because I asked him to play a few notes for me. While he played, I did a little dance that one does while listening to an outdoor tuba solo. Not exactly sexy.

I walked on, looking down and texting the picture of Tuba Boy to my coworkers, laughing to myself like the crazy person I am.  Because I was focused on looking down, I happened to see this:

I'm sorry that the picture is blurry, but I wanted you to see the proof. Sitting proudly on the sidewalk was this plain white envelope with a fresh stamp, addressed to Playboy.

On my walks, I've found lots of interesting things on the sidewalks of the fine institution known as the University of Texas at Austin. One morning I found a huge pair of grey flip flops, as if the owner just took them off, set them neatly on the sidewalk and said, "Flips, it is time we part ways." That same huge pair of flip flops stayed there for a good two weeks. So weird. Where WAS that barefoot guy? Another morning I found -- in this order -- an empty bottle of cheap whiskey, an empty Red Bull, an empty condom package, and an empty package of Cheetos. I wanted to photograph it and title it "A Good Time Was Had By All." Except that I wasn't sure that everyone in that scenario had a good time.

The letter to Playboy was, by far, the best find to date.

I looked around for a camera crew, figuring this was some kind of "What Would You Do?" taping. When the coast was clear, I bent down to snap a photo and thought I'd move along. Except I didn't. I picked it up, looked around for a possible owner, and carried it with me. I'm not always up on the current laws, but a few laws have been ingrained in me for a very long time: Don't speed in a school zone. Don't pick bluebonnets in Texas (we'll shoot you). And for the love of God, don't open anyone else's mail. So I kidnapped someone else's mail, which may also be a federal offense. But I took my chances.

From there, I had a strong urge to talk to someone. A UT student, or possibly young professor type, came walking down the sidewalk. I walked toward him cheerfully and said,

"I'm sorry to bother you, but something very strange just happened and I'm hoping you can help me decide what to do."

"Okay.." he said, looking skeptical.

"I'm a mom," I said, feeling that would make me appear less mentally unstable, "and I walk this route almost every day. I was just minding my own business when I found THIS on the sidewalk."

I displayed the letter for his review while pointing to the sidewalk where I discovered it. Also, I often find that in random situations, if you tell someone you're a mom, it makes them feel comfortable. I don't think this was the case this time.

"Okay..." he said, twisting his wedding ring uncomfortably.

"I know! It's crazy! Did you see the address? It's to PLAYBOY!" I said excitedly, "It was just sitting there, and the owner is nowhere in sight! Now, I bet you think you're on some kind of reality show right now, right?"

"Um, yeah." This guy was quite the conversationalist. He looked around for cameras.

"Don't worry, you're not," I assured him, "Unless of course we both are, because I just found this letter a few minutes ago and I have no idea why I picked it up. But I have some choices to make here. I could leave it where I found it, but what if it has a check in it? Or, I could drop it in the mail, but what if the owner wasn't ready to send it just yet? Or, I could track down the owner, but it's not like it's just an everyday letter. I mean, it's kind of awkward subject matter. Like is it a subscription renewal? Or maybe it's a hate letter. What should I do with it?"

By this point, the guy was fake laughing like he was laughing at his father-in-law's bad joke. He was not catching my drift, or even remotely excited about this awesome situation.

"Yeah, I don't know what you should do," he said, clearly walking to safety, "Good luck with that."

And with that he was off. I walked on, still clutching the letter, wishing I'd come across someone with more personality and gusto for life and its random happenings, and wondering why this letter was suddenly in my care.

I walked quickly home to share the story with my family, who all found the letter to be extremely entertaining and mysterious, thank goodness. My husband Tim tried to hold it up to the light to review the contents. Then he wedged his finger in the corner of it and blew, trying to peer in, until I got very protective and ordered him to stop. After all, I am the temporary guardian of this strange letter. I need to guard and protect it. (Some of you will get that reference, which makes me happy.)

Tim doesn't like it when I'm bossy, so he quickly lost interest, adding sarcastically that it could be filled with anthrax. I suggested that his decision to blow in a stranger's anthrax-filled letter was probably not a great idea, and he better watch himself.

From there, I spent entirely too much of my free time researching the letter writer's name. Because they only put a first initial and last name, tracking this individual down was nearly impossible, and I am very good at research. I tried the UT staff listing. I did all sorts of name searches, tried LinkedIn, Facebook, and even tried tracking the return address to the home owner. Right as I was identifying the owner of the home (a different name from the letter writer), my stepdaughter came home, and I told the story again.

To set up the mysterious letter story, I started with the tuba story. From yesterday. It's just how I tell stories.

Over dinner, we considered the options:

• I could drop the letter in the mail. Except somehow I've missed the memo on the fact that you can't find a simple mailbox anywhere anymore unless you go to the post office, and I feel a little weird about showing up with a letter I didn't write addressed to an establishment that features naked ladies. And I know, I know, people subscribe for the articles, but I am unsure of the intentions of my mystery letter writer, so this is an unusual situation.
• I could mail it from home, but again, do I want to be associated with this letter if it's in any way threatening?
• Also, if I mail this letter, what if the sender was debating whether or not to send it? What if it was an application for employment, or some kind of private letter to an employee? What if! What if!
• I could drive to the address on the envelope (the one in Austin, that is) and tell the person who answers the door that I found this letter. Except what happens if the letter was written by a male (with girly handwriting), and the person's wife or girlfriend answers, and is then upset at the fact that their partner subscribed to an adult publication without their knowledge?
• I could go and put the letter back where I found it. No. That's even weirder than picking it up in the first place.
• There was brief discussion about putting the letter in the freezer, a technique that evidently opens letters? I'm not sure how my stepdaughter knows this technique. Hmm.

Decisions, decisions.

I hope you're not waiting for a climactic finish to this story, because I still have the letter in my possession, and I have still not figured out what to do with it. I slept restlessly, dreaming about driving up to middle school band on a motorcycle, a tuba on my back, and all the while, worrying about a missing letter.

Rest assured, I'll keep you posted on what happens next!