Clareified

Where does the good go

No, really. How do I not walk into walls?

In my frenzy of productivity, I figured I would go to the post office to return my defective router to Netgear.
They had provided me with a pre-paid label and I recycled their original box through the magic of duct tape and magic markers.
Off I went!
I found parking a few feet away from the post office, put in enough coinage for an hour and went inside.
The line was practically to the front door. I was the fourteenth person. And last.
I had forgotten my ipod in the car, and was about to dash out to get it, when number 15 walked in carrying a shopping cart full of boxes.
Crap.
Oh well.
Seconds later Number 16 came in.
Number 16, or as she would later come to be known psychotically batshit lady.
She hadn’t been in the post office for one minute when she yells out “WHY IS THE LINE NOT MOVING?” She then did that slurping sound that teenagers with braces make when they suck down the drool.
“I HAVE TO MAIL A PACKAGE!” Slurp.
I hear one of the attendants in the back say “Fuck, dats Elizabeth ain’t it?’
I turn around and glance at the return address label on her package.
Sure enough, in huge block letters I make out the words Elizabeth and Argyle Road.
A young looking employee of the post office then makes an announcement that he is open for anyone picking up packages.
“I’M MAILING OUT A PACKAGE!”
“Um, then you have to wait on the line.”
“IT’S GOING TO JAPAN! (Slurp) AND THEN I’M GOING TO EAT AT FRIENDLY’S (slurp)”
I am soo regretting my non ipod state of being. But now the line is snaking around the lobby and there’s no way in hell I’m getting off it.
I will suffer.
Elizabeth will see to it.
“(Slurp) WHY IS THERE ONLY ONE WINDOW OPEN. OPEN MORE WINDOWS”
“Sorry, ma’am we’re doing the best we can.”
The woman who is finishing up at the window, comes around to the lobby to put her hat on her son’s head.
“(Slurp) WHAT WERE YOU DOING UP THERE FOR SO LONG?? PEOPLE ARE WAITING!”
The young mother was taken aback and started stammering about four presents and grandparents in Indiana and I am just thinking, why would she even answer the batshit lady.
Dawn life rule #7. Do. Not. Engage.
The mom shuffles out of the post office and PBL focuses her saliva and shouting on the Latino dude at the counter now.
“HURRY (slurp) UP”
Now, while he doesn’t subscribe to my philosophy, he was not the young mom either.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP, BITCH. I’M WAITING TOO”
“(Slurp) DON’T TELL ME TO SHUT UP. I’M OLDER THAN YOU.”
But, she kinda backs off.
We have maybe two minutes of quiet when I hear her again.
She asks number 15 if she could get in front of her.
“No.”
“WHY NOT?”
“Because I am in a rush too.”
“I’M NOT IN A RUSH. I JUST HATE WAITING ON LINES. I HATE IT” (Now, if my keyboard allowed letters bigger than allcaps, that’s what the last three words would be in.)
I grab my ears.
Dear God, deliver me!
Now she starts in on a postal employee behind the glass that is stamping papers.
“YOU SHOULD STAMP THAT STUFF WHEN WE AREN’T HERE?? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?”
“Lady, I don’t make the rules. Just be patient.”
“PATIENCE ISN’T ONE OF MY VIRTUES!”
I should probably point out that in between her screaming fits, she would be muttering under her breath that she was mailing a package to Japan and that she was going to eat at Friendly’s. Over and over and over and over again. So, while the rest of the post office was treated to her outer monologue, me, number 13 and number 16 were specially privileged to listen in on her inside voice.
Another twenty minutes passes, I am worried about my meter running out. PBL has now screamed that her legs hurt, she’s old, they need to hurry up, by now everyone ignores her.
She leans in to number 15 once again and says
“CAN I GET IN FRONT OF YOU?”
The look on number 15’s face, just kills me!
I laugh so hard. Then number 11-13 also start laughing.
Now batshit lady starts laughing.
AND I LOSE IT.
I am laughing so hard that I started to cough and choke….yet still I cannot stop.
There are five people left in front of me.
I can see the promised land.
I borrow a pen from the man in front of me and fill out the paperwork on my package.
I hand it back to him and cheer as another person steps up to the window…now there’s only….WHAT? STILL FIVE!!! WHAT THE HELL.
THIS IS A NIGHTMARE….hmm…maybe this is how PBL got started with the screaming…I’d better watch the slurping.
Anway, I get to the almost front of the line…just one guy left before it’s my turn and I notice something.
My pre-paid label is for DHL.
There is also a phone number which says “Call this 800 number to schedule pickup”
Awesome.
I run out of the post office to check on my car. Cause really all I would need to make this errand the absolute awesomest is a parking ticket.
I get back and the meter reads two minutes and 12 seconds.
Whew.
I throw the retardo package in the car and drive home.
Now, who do I see about getting those 58 minutes of my life back?
Whom?

6 Responses to “No, really. How do I not walk into walls?”

  1. F-Train Says:

    Dumbass.

  2. Dawn Summers Says:

    tell me about it.

  3. Fisch Says:

    This is like that movie “The sixth sense” or “Identity” where as she’s leaving she realizes that she really is psychotic batshit lady. It was her the whole time…now we have flashbacks…the post office guy says “fuk, dats dawn, aint it?”…

  4. Ari Says:

    Argyle Road is where only the very best come from. Cough.

  5. Gertie Says:

    Argyle Road – wait – – I think that’s where at least 5 of my dates came from… no wonder they where that shit and are crazy. I need to stop being so open. Dawn, if you think that Post Office scenario was bad, just come sit on my old stoop for awhile out here in SF. THEN and only THEN will you know 6 ways to crazy.

  6. Gertie Says:

    Ha ha, I mean WEAR that argyle stuff.

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