I had to describe somebody today. And The Pony described them right back to me. It was kind of like a Humpty Dumpty With a Melon Head was trying to meet up with a Hipster Doofus, and a Guy With a Horseface and Flaring Nostrils, and a gal with a Face Like a Frying Pan, Big Wall of Hair to see a movie.
I had taken the packet of The Pony's RECONSIDERATION documents to the main post office for mailing. The gal behind the counter did not instill confidence in me, as far as this very important paperwork getting to its destination. She was like a compulsive talker who missed her Adderall and Ritalin dosages, and instead snorted some cocaine and meth.
She was talking on a cell phone when I entered. I was the only customer.
"Oh. I'll have to call you back. Sorry. I didn't mean to make you wait. I have a lot going on right now."
"Hmm."
I don't know what you say to that. All I wanted was to get postage on those documents, and send them on their way, hopefully trading them for five grand. For The Pony, of course. Hyped-Up Chatty was turning this way and that, handling a couple things behind the counter.
"These two bills are ready to go, and I need to pay postage for this big envelope."
Hyped-Up Chatty tossed my two small envelopes into a bin of mail sitting on a cart. I've seen them do this before. She pulled the big manila envelope across the counter and looked at it. Then turned and started weighing a lumpy meatloaf-looking package that appeared to be wrapped in duct tape. It was on a flat scale. Had been sitting there the whole time. She fiddled with it, then left it there.
Next, she grabbed a similar manila envelope, and moved it from the computer over to a cart next to the cart holding the mail bins. And left it. Took The Pony's manila envelope, moved the meatloaf, and put it on the scale.
"I get to see my baby tonight. I'm going to pick him up. My sister is coming to help me get things ready."
"Oh..."
Again, what do you say to that. Her BABY? Did she mean her husband? A paramour? A new kitten? A literal BABY that she might be taking care of?
"Do you want tracking on this?"
"Yes. I need tracking."
"Then I will have to send it as a package. It will cost more."
"That's fine."
"He's 23, but he's still my baby. I was supposed to get him in January, when school was out."
Hyped-Up Chatty typed up something on the computer.
"Is there anything flammable, liquid, or hazardous in your package?"
"No. Just paper."
"Push the red button for NO. That will be four dollars and fifteen cents. I can't wait to see him. It's been so long. So I'm really busy trying to get things ready."
Sweet Gummi Mary! Hows about you shut your piehole and get down to business and concentrate on what you're doing with my package?
Hyped-Up Chatty took my $5 bill and gave me change. She tossed that package in a bin on the second shelf of the cart. Then she gave me a receipt.
"Here's the tracking number, and here's a link for a survey."
Lady, you'd better HOPE that I don't fill out that survey.
When The Pony got home, I told him of my experience.
"Do you know who was working the counter today?"
"Not sure."
"She was a blond lady."
"Three of them that work the counter are blond. In fact, they ALL are. Except Rick. The guy. There's one I really don't like. Her voice so strident."
"She was polite enough. But she couldn't pay attention. I hope she knew what she was doing."
"Was she short and kind of chubby, with curly blond hair?"
"No. She was tall, like a scarecrow, with stringy blond hair."
"Did she have a bird face?"
"I don't known if I'd call it a bird face."
"There's another one with a square face."
"I know one that's been there a long time. She's got short blond hair, not curly, about 40, kind of medium. I really like her."
"This one with the bird face I can't stand. Just... no."
"She did have kind of a pointy face. Not square."
"That was probably her."
Yeah. I hope nobody goes home trying to describe ME. I'll wear a name tag, or a uniform shirt with a number, or a sweater with a big 'L' like Laverne DeFazio to avoid that.
It does seem like she needs to learn to pay attention to doing just one job at a time. I wouldn't be calling a 23 year old 'my baby', although our 40 year old still gets called "the boy" because he's the youngest.
ReplyDeleteRiver,
ReplyDeleteBOY is definitely more respectable than BABY. I could have chatted with her, because The Pony is 23, and he's MY baby, but I don't call him that. I didn't want to prolong the transaction, since a man had come in behind me and was waiting. He was there to pick up his mail. I think he'd had a hold on it, but something wasn't right. Imagine that...
When The Pony has moved into his own pasture, how will you survive with these entertaining, in-person and daily conversations?
ReplyDeleteSioux,
ReplyDeleteI don't know! I already told him I'm going through withdrawal again, now that he's back to work. Unlike Genius, The Pony is not a good phone talker.
I thought I was the only one subjected to more personal information that I want! They seem to want to inform me of their every stop before they get here and what they will be stopping for! I honestly just wish they would make the reservation, then show up on the appointed day, pay, stay and then leave! What was that song Kathie Lee Gifford sang about everybody having a story? Not everyone wants to hear it!
ReplyDeleteKathy,
ReplyDeleteAnd just as I feared, this "package" of information has not yet arrived, and it's been TWO WEEKS! Gave it to the post office on Sept 17, and just now in Knoxville, TN and on the way to London, KY. Hey! you're going in that general direction. I could give you a copy to hand-deliver! I knew that gal was trouble. I'm blaming her, even if she somehow did everything right.
Your campers seem to have you confused with somebody who gives a rat's patootie about their lives!