April 15, 2008

I just spent the better part of my evening driving around looking for a fucking post office that was open. The one that’s *always* been open late - 24/7 - decided this year, on T-day, fuck you fools! Want to wait ’til the last minute to file? We’ll show you. You’re gonna have to drive all over BFE (aka bum fuck egypt) to find a new place to save your ass and get that “round date” postmark before the stroke of midnight.

To lessen my pain, I discovered there were 100s of others in the same boat. By the time I finally found a friggin’ PO - 2 hours and half a tank of gas later - I stood in line with about 75 other of my “clan.” We bemoaned our laziness, cursed the postal service, and threatened mutiny. Realizing there was no means of winning, we “fell in line,” and waited our turn.

And I stood in that line for a good 30 minutes, chatting with complete strangers. Passing the time.

When my turn FINALLY arrived, I wanted my money’s worth. Figured I’d chat with the postman for a few seconds. (Happiness is a quickie!) See how his day had been. Keep the people behind me waiting a little longer. Dammit - like I said - I had waited and waited and WAITED. I handed him my envelopes and watched him affix that red round date postmark.

Moi: Hey, while you’re at it, could you stamp me, too and ship me to Tuscany? Bulk rate. (Seeing as I have enough bulk.)
Postman: sure thing- I’ll go, too!
Moi: Oh, don’t tease me!

I turned and walked away. You know, if I’d had less than half a mind, I probably would’ve have done it, too. Because the postman always ring twice. Nah, just kidding. Somewhere along the road of parenthood, responsibility surpassed wild abandon. pffff!

(Sigh) OK - I’m gonna go pour a large snifter of something and chillax. And de-fume. And swear I’ll never wait until T-day again to file.

Hope your T-day was better than mine.

Peace out.

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