Day two of my eight days of hell: complete. I CAN DO THIS. I totally did NOT punch a certain person I will not go into detail about because I would be fired RIGHT IN HIS PIEHOLE like I wanted to. This took a major amount of restraint; I am expecting my award to be mailed to me any day now. One of my favorite coworkers did say he would bring in pistols, and when I asked him if we were going to have a duel at dawn with them, he said that was up to me. That I could CHOOSE what I wanted to do with those pistols. Well. I like that. I like that VERY MUCH.
Also, some of my people sent me encouraging emails. To those of you who sent me encouraging emails: I love your faces, and if you ever have a really hellish week, I promise I will return the favor. And I will not shoot you ever with my fancy new dueling pistols that I have been promised. You win IMMUNITY from the dueling pistols! Isn’t that so nice?
I have very little time tonight to write this and catch up on all the blogging goodness all my people did today and comment and such and retweet the hell out things and respond to all of your lovely comments from today and then watch Justified because I think it’s the season finale and I suppose that means lots of shooting and excitement and maybe Raylan will take his shirt off at some point. I always like those episodes. They’re just so aesthetically pleasing.
So listen, today I caused SUCH A FUROR at my post office.
I made up a package for Andreas. Because I adore him and he is moving. Shut up, sometimes I can be very nice. I CAN. Whatever, I’ll smack your face area if you keep up with the insults. Now, do you all remember where Andreas lives? The ISLE OF MAN.
So Andreas sent me his address, which I wrote on the package, and I ran away from work and off to the post office on my lunch break.
My first indication there might be an issue was that the line was so long it went to the doors. This was not encouraging. I only have an hour for lunch, and I also had to go to the library and drop off some books that were minutes from being overdue and pick up a hold that was about to expire. Then I had to get back to work before someone noticed their indentured servant had taken French leave. Is that a thing, French leave? I feel like I used that incorrectly. I don’t really have time to go back and fix it. If it’s not a thing, pretend I just made it be a thing.
So I filled out the little customs form (and LISTEN, I don’t like that customs form. Because what if you have a surprise in there? Then you write it on the form, and the person who gets the package knows what it is before he opens it? I totally didn’t tell the truth on that customs form. Am I arrested right now? And also, there were two customs forms, a short one and a long one, and no indication which I should fill out, so I chose the short one because the long one looked like maybe also I was signing up for the draft in Micronesia and it worried me) and waited in line, sandwiched between a woman with a palsy who I was quite worried was going to drop her package on the floor and a woman who kept coughing a phlegmy cough into my hair. COVER YOUR MOUTH WENCH.
I realized the problem was that the post office was understaffed. Two people were working; one was efficient, and one was a young guy being trained by a DRAGON HARPY. DRAGON HARPY was very snarly at the trainee, the people in line, and pretty much everyone around her.
I started sending good vibes out that I would get the efficient lady and not the trainee kid. He seemed nice, but he was slooooowwwww. And I wasn’t sure I filled out the right form, and from past experience, sending overseas packages is like telling people, “I might be a terrorist!” so you have to be careful.
Of course, I got the trainee kid.
“Hi, how can I help you?” he said, very nervous. Aw, kiddo. Look at your valiant attempt to grow a manly chinbeard! I just want to buy you a Lunchable and send you out to play kickball at recess.
“I have this package. It’s going to the Isle of Man. I’m not sure if I filled out the correct customs form,” I said.
“WE’LL BE ABLE TO TELL YOU THAT IN A MINUTE,” Dragon Harpy hissed.
The next ten minutes were extremely painful, and I wanted to beat my head against the desk.
The problem was, neither Trainee Kiddo or Dragon Harpy thought the Isle of Man was a real place. They thought maybe I was sending the package to a made-up place. Like Narnia. Or Atlantis.
“Where is this?” Dragon Harpy said, scrutinizing the package like it was highly suspect.
“The British Isles? That’s what the address says,” I said.
“We need to be able to FIND it, in the COMPUTER,” she said. “Is this ENGLAND?”
Wondering why she couldn’t just have Trainee Kiddo look it up under “Isle of Man” in the computer, I replied, “Well, I did ask him, and he said it’s not considered England. So I’m not sure. Can you look it up under British Isles?”
Here are the things Dragon Harpy had Trainee Kiddo look poor Andreas’s address up under:
THE British Isles
Island of Man (when I told her that’s not the name of it, she SHUSHED me)
“Man Island” (I tried so hard not to laugh…and was not successful)
“Island Man” (seriously, it was like they were DARING me not to laugh)
“just type in ISLAND, this is TAKING too long!” “there are a LOT of islands in the world, should I just choose any of them?” –actual conversation held by post office workers today
Ireland (because “try that, it SOUNDS like island, maybe this is addressed wrong”)
Finally, Trainee Kiddo said, “what about Great Britain?” and I said, “YES. That is an EXCELLENT idea. Try Great Britain,” and Dragon Harpy was all “huff huff” but he was SO CUTELY EXCITED. “Hey! Look! There it is! It’s a thing! Isle of Man! Right here! Under Great Britain!”
Yes. Yes, Trainee Kiddo. The Isle of Man IS a thing. I promise. Even though every time I mention it, my dad says, “That’s where that spy SAYS he lives. It’s a likely story.”
“FOR FUTURE REFERENCE,” Dragon Harpy spit at me, “this is in GREAT BRITAIN.”
“Thank you,” I said. “But I will not need that for future reference, because he is moving to FIN-LAYND.” Then I nodded, like Ken did at the end of his very impressive YouTube fast food video. You know, for emphasis. So she knew what I was talking about. I think it really sealed the deal.
I’m pretty sure if I ever send Andreas a present in Finland it will be easier for them to look it up in their computer. I think they could probably find it under Iceland. Or maybe Land Fin.
Then she got all suspicious-face about the package.
“What’s in here?” she said.
“I wrote it on the customs form,” I said. “CDs?”
She then SHOOK THE PACKAGE VERY VIOLENTLY. I have never wished I placed a bomb in a package to the Isle of Man that was set off by jostling so much in my life.
“Um…there’s nothing liquid in there,” I said.
“What about FLAMMABLE. Is there anything FLAMMABLE?”
At this point, Trainee Kiddo was giving me apologetic eyes. Poor Trainee Kiddo. If he was old enough to drink, he totally would have deserved a beer.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Do you consider CDs to be flammable?”
This was not amusing to her, but apparently was enough to let the package pass.
Then Trainee Kiddo told me the prices, and some of them were ridiculous. Like, the most expensive option could have paid my monthly gas bill.
“If I pay for that option, does someone let me come along for the ride so I can hand-deliver the package?” I asked. Trainee Kiddo looked confused; Dragon Harpy frowned frownily.
FINALLY we found an option that assured I could put gas in my car today AND get the package to Andreas before he leaves for Finland, and after the package was stamped VERY officially MANY times (STAMP STAMP STAMP!) it is NOW ON THE WAY TO THE POTENTIALLY IMAGINARY ISLE OF MAN.
YAY FOR MAILING A PACKAGE!
Whoo, it’s exciting when you have an adventure when you weren’t even planning on it.
OK, I’m off to do a million things before Justified. Send good thoughts for shirtless Raylan. I need some happy tonight.