I had a few errands to run this morning, so once I peeled myself out of bed, I gathered myself into what resembled a respectable appearance (meaning I actually washed my face) and I was off.
I picked up a caramel mach at the 'Bux, and mosied over for a pedi. After that I headed to the mall to Bath and Body Works to pick up my check from my part time job, and spend some monies. Onward to the bank to deposit said check, and then off to Tarjay to get some weenie candy.
I was feeling pretty good about the fact that I had accomplished so much, so I decided to head home and get some more laundry done. I pulled into my driveway, gathered my belongings, and headed to the mailbox. Nothing spectacular, a couple of bills, my Williams Sonoma catty, which is always a good time, and some junk.
I headed up to my house. And that's when I saw it. The subpoena of torture. Stuffed so nonchalantly into the crevice between my door and the door jamb. My decree of execution. I had missed a delivery of an Express Package from the United States Post Office. BUT - I could come pick it up! Just head down to the good ole PO! And so, I did.
Let me just say that I don't think the post office is terrible, per se; I do think that the majority of the clientele were dropped on their heads, repeatedly, as infants.
And today was no different.
I get there at 2:15. They close at 3:00. I am probably fifth in line. Not bad, right? These PO employees are rockin through people. Getting them in, out and on their way. I was getting glad in my pants! I'm gonna get out of here in a reasonable.....screech! What's that? Oh! Dumbass, party of one, two people in front of me.
He gets called to the counter and the ensuing conversation went like this:
Postal Worker: Can I help you?
Mr. Out on a Day Pass: I got this notice in the mail that I have a package and need to pick it up.
PW: Do you have the notice with you sir?
Mr. Clueless: No, but I can give you my address.
PW: Sure. (She grabs a piece of paper) Go ahead.
Mr. Should Have Taken His Meds: Uh..let's see...16100 SW Sorry Ass Excuse for a Human Lane, Tigard.
PW: Is that 97223, or 97224? We have two zip codes for Tigard.
Mr. How Does This Man Function in Society: Uh - uh......um....ooh. Uh - how about let's try 97223. That should be it.
Conversation in my head: SHOULD be it? You don't know your own freaking ZIP CODE? Are you kidding me? This is going to be great blog fodder!
PW: OK sir, I will go look, I'll be right back
Mr. Dumbass: OK.
Postal Worker goes to look for package, but I am suspecting it wasn't a Herculean effort, if you know what I mean.
PW: I am sorry sir, I cannot find it. Do you remember what box was marked on the notice? Was it a letter, parcel, package, box? (Hands him a sample notice and he looks it over)
Mr. Holy Shit, Could He Be Any Stupider: Ummm...let's go with package.
At this point folks, the line is starting to get annoyed. Why in the HELL do people insist on wasting other people's time by not coming to the game prepared? WHY? So this time, the conversation wasn't in my head, it was out of my mouth: "Let's go with? How about let's go with go get the damn notice!" The guy in front of me chuckles. Asshat at the counter doesn't even turn around at this point. I think he could feel the gamma rays of death that the people in line were shooting him. Oh - and the best part? It's 2:40 now. Seriously!
PW: I am sorry sir, I cannot find it without the number on the notice.
Mr. Needs a Kevlar Vest to Leave the Building at This Point: Oh. Well, ok, it's really not a big deal I guess. I can go home and see if I can find the notice. Thanks!
Dum dum leaves without a single glance at anyone in line. Good luck in the parking lot buddy, I'm pretty sure I saw someone heading out there with a blanket and a baseball bat.
So I finally get my package and go home. Where I decided to blog the entire experience. Cause it was SO incredibly unbelievable.
But you know what they say: Truth is stranger than fiction!