The Post
My lovely theometrica and a few others, ame_no_heisei, for example, have been making headlines of my war with the post. It is not really something I like to discuss. But, considering that it has now escalated and is affecting my loved ones I think that I must disclose. I should say straight off: I never wanted to hurt anyone else.
First it must be understood that most of this happened before I was even aware of it. I first learned that I was at war a few years ago. It was the summer of 2001. My very close friend nareau had moved to boston for a bit. Being a Taurus he had a birthday in May. I decided to send him a gift as he is my friend and all. So I baked cookies and made a little gift. I put it in a box and went to the post. I sat in line for the better part of the afternoon and when I got to the end the clerk looked at me and said "That is a liquor box you can't send anything in that." So I said "What?" She replied "Oh, no we can't ship anything in a liquor box." with a look and a wink over her shoulder. She then said "Why don't you wrap it in brown paper and bring it (tee hee) back (tee hee)" to which I replied, "Say can I have some of those stickers?", indicating the first class mail stickers. She gave me a few, but when I began sticking them all over the box she told me that I could NOT do that. At this point everyone behind the counter was snickering. I left.
I was not defeated. I came back the next day with my package wrapped in brown paper. I had cookies to send to my friend. They took one look at the box and said "Oh this postage is incorrect, and did you address this? We can't send THIS! Boston? Where is Boston? Ron do you know about any Boston?" I asked, very nicely what I could do about the postage. I was informed with infernal civility that there was nothing I could do about the postage. I left.
I had cookies to send to my friend. I came back the next day. They called me fang-tooth rock-jaw and pointed and laughed. I left.
This went on for five days. But, I had cookies to send to my friend. I asked my good friend to go to the post office for me. I re-wrapped the package in brown paper and neglected to put my name on the return address. I put the right number of stamps and supplied my friend with additional stamps in case of betrayal. She had no problem, they were kind, they took the package, they sent the package, they kissed her feet, they complimented her wrapping job, she asked "Does this not happen to you?"
I spent the next week crying and then forgot about the post. Until...
My ex-girlfriend and still dear friend moved to Seattle (note that Seattle is not some distant planet). She was bound for graduate school and was going to have to study Latin, to my great joy. I determined that she needed a gift. I baked cookies (my standard reaction to emergency) and packed up a copy of Bradley's Arnold Latin Prose Composition, a lovely little grammar that my family has cherished for generations (we are all freakish mutants). Having learned from my past mistakes I used a plain brown box, I wrapped it in plain brown paper. I put stamps on it, I put my return address but no name, I asked Beka (my trustworthy post friend) to take it for me. She did, there was no hitch. I was confident. I had them beaten, the fools, they were simple, pathetic. A month passed Tory (the would be recipient of the package) never mentioned it. I thought: "How odd Tory is so prone to thanks, I will make sure she received the package." She had not.
Eight months later, Tory called me up. She said "Guess what I found on my door step today?" I said "no!" followed by "Son of a bitch! NO!" She said "A box of really dusty, gross cookies and a book." Eight months. Please note the earlier reference to Seattle not being a distant planet. I have been there, I could have taken my cookies there in days. How did they know?
At this point I realized that the war had escalated. So I thought "Well fuck them! I pay my bills online, I need nothing from those bastards! I did not keep these feelings to myself. I did not want the three AOL discs that Current Resident received every day, I did not want the credit card offers that Jabog E. Lerrinson received. I did not even want the bills that were honestly mine, I didn't need the mail. I was vocal, I was loud, I may have scarred them. Now they hurt the ones I love. I had gotten over it. I used UPS or Fed-Ex. "Why can't they let me be?" I thought. Then it came to me. Ages ago, when the world was young (1996) I had a lover. She was an abominable driver. She hit my neighbor's mailbox with her car. In all honesty she was the third woman I have been involved with to hit that mailbox. In the morning I went to have a look at the box, it was a shattered husk of its former self. I looked at its placement and I thought "Why is it that my lovers hate this mailbox?" And then it came to me that in fact the mailbox was in a horrible location. There was a large ditch between the neighbors house and the road and the mailbox was on the road side of the ditch. I figured that the mailman could stand to get out of the car and walk across the walk and put the mail in the box without dying and it would save the mailbox from my future lovers. Well fuck me for thinking of the mailbox. This has cursed me and, now that I have abandoned the USPS (the whole time I lived in France they were nothing but cordial), my friends to the wrath of the USPS. I hope this explains my postal woes to everybody who had questions. I am unapologetic, I do not need the USPS, they can go hang for all of me. I wish they would not take out their spleen on the innocent, but that is not me, it is them. Join me, pay your bills online, order with UPS, hell carry things to and fro, but above all do not bend knee to the oppressor.
First it must be understood that most of this happened before I was even aware of it. I first learned that I was at war a few years ago. It was the summer of 2001. My very close friend nareau had moved to boston for a bit. Being a Taurus he had a birthday in May. I decided to send him a gift as he is my friend and all. So I baked cookies and made a little gift. I put it in a box and went to the post. I sat in line for the better part of the afternoon and when I got to the end the clerk looked at me and said "That is a liquor box you can't send anything in that." So I said "What?" She replied "Oh, no we can't ship anything in a liquor box." with a look and a wink over her shoulder. She then said "Why don't you wrap it in brown paper and bring it (tee hee) back (tee hee)" to which I replied, "Say can I have some of those stickers?", indicating the first class mail stickers. She gave me a few, but when I began sticking them all over the box she told me that I could NOT do that. At this point everyone behind the counter was snickering. I left.
I was not defeated. I came back the next day with my package wrapped in brown paper. I had cookies to send to my friend. They took one look at the box and said "Oh this postage is incorrect, and did you address this? We can't send THIS! Boston? Where is Boston? Ron do you know about any Boston?" I asked, very nicely what I could do about the postage. I was informed with infernal civility that there was nothing I could do about the postage. I left.
I had cookies to send to my friend. I came back the next day. They called me fang-tooth rock-jaw and pointed and laughed. I left.
This went on for five days. But, I had cookies to send to my friend. I asked my good friend to go to the post office for me. I re-wrapped the package in brown paper and neglected to put my name on the return address. I put the right number of stamps and supplied my friend with additional stamps in case of betrayal. She had no problem, they were kind, they took the package, they sent the package, they kissed her feet, they complimented her wrapping job, she asked "Does this not happen to you?"
I spent the next week crying and then forgot about the post. Until...
My ex-girlfriend and still dear friend moved to Seattle (note that Seattle is not some distant planet). She was bound for graduate school and was going to have to study Latin, to my great joy. I determined that she needed a gift. I baked cookies (my standard reaction to emergency) and packed up a copy of Bradley's Arnold Latin Prose Composition, a lovely little grammar that my family has cherished for generations (we are all freakish mutants). Having learned from my past mistakes I used a plain brown box, I wrapped it in plain brown paper. I put stamps on it, I put my return address but no name, I asked Beka (my trustworthy post friend) to take it for me. She did, there was no hitch. I was confident. I had them beaten, the fools, they were simple, pathetic. A month passed Tory (the would be recipient of the package) never mentioned it. I thought: "How odd Tory is so prone to thanks, I will make sure she received the package." She had not.
Eight months later, Tory called me up. She said "Guess what I found on my door step today?" I said "no!" followed by "Son of a bitch! NO!" She said "A box of really dusty, gross cookies and a book." Eight months. Please note the earlier reference to Seattle not being a distant planet. I have been there, I could have taken my cookies there in days. How did they know?
At this point I realized that the war had escalated. So I thought "Well fuck them! I pay my bills online, I need nothing from those bastards! I did not keep these feelings to myself. I did not want the three AOL discs that Current Resident received every day, I did not want the credit card offers that Jabog E. Lerrinson received. I did not even want the bills that were honestly mine, I didn't need the mail. I was vocal, I was loud, I may have scarred them. Now they hurt the ones I love. I had gotten over it. I used UPS or Fed-Ex. "Why can't they let me be?" I thought. Then it came to me. Ages ago, when the world was young (1996) I had a lover. She was an abominable driver. She hit my neighbor's mailbox with her car. In all honesty she was the third woman I have been involved with to hit that mailbox. In the morning I went to have a look at the box, it was a shattered husk of its former self. I looked at its placement and I thought "Why is it that my lovers hate this mailbox?" And then it came to me that in fact the mailbox was in a horrible location. There was a large ditch between the neighbors house and the road and the mailbox was on the road side of the ditch. I figured that the mailman could stand to get out of the car and walk across the walk and put the mail in the box without dying and it would save the mailbox from my future lovers. Well fuck me for thinking of the mailbox. This has cursed me and, now that I have abandoned the USPS (the whole time I lived in France they were nothing but cordial), my friends to the wrath of the USPS. I hope this explains my postal woes to everybody who had questions. I am unapologetic, I do not need the USPS, they can go hang for all of me. I wish they would not take out their spleen on the innocent, but that is not me, it is them. Join me, pay your bills online, order with UPS, hell carry things to and fro, but above all do not bend knee to the oppressor.