I haven’t picked up my mail key yet.

I may never.

I live in an apartment and my mailbox is one of many inside one of those gray metal group mailbox units that requires me to get a key to access my mail.

I went down to the post office once this week, lease in hand, but was told I needed to go to a different post office on a different day and collect the key then.

If only there were some mechanism whereby packages containing keys could be delivered right to my door, but no, that’s obviously some kind of sci-fi fantasy. As it is, there’s apparently no way for a post office box key to make it from one post office to the other.

But who needs a key? And who needs a mailbox? I pay most of my bills online. My banking is online. I have a magazine subscription but these days I don’t have time to read and, anyway, that’s online, too.

These days, the majority of my mail includes credit card offers, jury summonses and political mailings. Oh, and the usual coupons for things I don’t want. In short, I am but a mere roadblock on the way to the recycling drop off.

Besides junk mail, I am of an age where many of my friends and family are getting married. Of late, I’ve been averaging a wedding invitation per year.

Imagine missing those—no longer will I feel obligated to go somewhere I don’t want to go to sit through something I don’t want to sit through and buy a piece of junk that’s obviously not necessary. One wedding registry a few years ago included a set of cookware, but the couple was in their 30s. How had they managed all these years without cookware, I wondered.

But I digress. That’s a whole other issue.

No, the only reason I have for a mailbox is to mail out the rent check once a month. And of course, if I don’t do that, then I assume someone will at some point come to my door and see me about it.

So, problem solved.