A while back my mailbox got knocked down. Or was cut down. It was an oddly clean break for a knockdown but whatever, seeing as I’m only a vaguely functional adult and I live in a sketchy neighborhood with a shady mailman I figured it was easier just to get a PO Box than mess with putting it back up.
I shop online a lot but wasn’t sure how that would work and just assumed if packages were too big for my box (no pun intended) they would leave me a note or something saying to come to the desk. But no!! It’s much cooler than that. They put the large items in big lockers that are all over the Post Office and just put the key in your mailbox. Since I shop online quite frequently but only go to the Post Office once or twice a week there’s usually 2 or 3 keys my mailbox and since most of my shopping is done while I’m drunk it’s like a fun surprise and it ends up being like a life size advent calendar with me skipping around the Post Office to all the different boxes gathering my packages from behind different doors. Being irresponsible and lazy has a LOT of drawbacks but thankfully the USPS was prepared for my shit and this is really working out well for me.
Tag: mailman
FFS: My life at the moment
In the last two weeks my trusty old microwave finally met it’s maker, my dryer went wonky, one of my tires shuffled off its mortal coil, my prescription that I’ve been taking forever and was always completely covered by insurance suddenly costs $20 and the pharmacy said when they ran my insurance it said my coverage had ended. (it hasn’t and a phone call fixed it) and I finally got around to being a grown up and switching my Jeep insurance over to the same company as my house and was supposed to get a lovely refund for switching but my gooey tub fart of a mailman (that’s a story for another post) sent it back as undeliverable even though the agent read me the address on the envelope and both my name and address were correct. (Same guy that didn’t want to deliver my 40 lbs of dog food so put a note on my box saying it was too full to deliver that package of 40 POUNDS OF DOG FOOD THAT WOULD NOT FIT IN AN EMPTY BOX TO BEGIN WITH.)(( And there’s still more of his shenanigans for another post.)) I really REALLY want to feel sorry for myself but there’s a naggy little bitch of a voice in my head (that sounds a lot like my mother) reminding of all my shady behavior, especially the frequency with which I bellow profanity at other drivers and death stare people that get in my way at the grocery store or how I always, always, always give an extended honk and flash the bird or make throat slitting gestures at my siblings when pass them in town and past affinity for married men saying this might be karma and at least it’s not cancer and maybe I should just thank my lucky stars all of these things were easily fixable. Man that voice needs a good swift kick in the meat curtains. But all this shit does give me facebook fodder so yay for silver linings. Or something.
Diary of a Dog Hoarding Spinster 