There probably aren’t many forms of torture that are worse than going to the post office this close to Christmas, at 6:00pm, on a Friday when it is raining and close to freezing. Oh yes, smart one that I am, I decided to do it at this time of night when all of the people who work during the day would be there. All of the poor people who have had long days at the office and are ready to be home already, and who are sick and tired of people in general were there with me. We are talking big fun. I planned ahead. I took a magazine. Nothing says anti-social, leave me alone behavior like standing in line with a magazine ignoring the merry bliss of Christmas cheer surrounding me. (We’ve all been to the post office this time of year. It just shouts Christmas cheer and goodwill, doesn’t it? No, mine doesn’t either.)
I went at this time of day in order to avoid having to take my children. I needed a break. Too bad the woman behind me with 5 kids didn’t decide to do the same. Now, you know I have kids, so I try to be tolerant. My kids are not saints. But these kids were channeling some sort of sugar possessed demon. They were running and screaming and I think one of them might have wiped their nose on my jeans. We’ll never know, I am planning on burning them. (No, not really buring them. Washing them about 30 times will do.)
So they are running and screaming. I am doing my best “I can’t hear you. I won’t make eye contact so you can’t talk to me” impression. But little Johnny didn’t buy it.
Little Johnny: “Whatcha reading? Whatcha reading? Whatcha reading?” while dancing from foot to foot as if trying not to wet himself.
Me thinking: “Don’t look. Ignore him and he will go away.”
LJ: “Whatcha reading? Whatcha reading? Whatcha reading?”
The man in front of me is not as good at the ignore game. He says under his breath: “Santa’s obituary, kid.”
Someone did not take his happy pill today. I laughed. I took mine.
Then there was the Busy Executive Mom who was on her cell phone talking loudly enough for all to hear. Even over the loud children. Apparently her Nanny was none too pleased that she was being kept late. Executive Mom was none too happy to have to argue with the Nanny. It ended with Executive Mom bribing offering to pay the Nanny more if she would stay even later and feed the kids. I am assuming Nanny accepted because Executive Mom hung up and called the office. It got boring, so I went back to the magazine.
Of course, what holiday post office trip is complete without Miss Holiday Cheer to annoy us all? Oh yes, she is all decked out in the Christmas geer. Santa hat, bright sweater with just about every icon that symbolizes the holiday embroidered on it. She was properly adorned with bracelets that had jingle bells on them, earrings that were Christmas trees and a blinking Rudolph pin neatly on her over-the-top sweater. She smiled and wished everyone who made eye contact a Merry Christmas then proceded to tell whomever made the unfortuante mistake of looking her in the eye all about her family, what she had bought for them, her early childhood memories and even that her middle name was Holly. I heard the story 3 times. I never gagged (outloud) once. Yes, I am proud of myself, too.
I only had to be there for about 7 hours 45 minutes. It was sheer holiday bliss, I tell you.
Tomorrow, I am thinking of slamming my head into the wall repeatedly for my holiday fun. Anyone with me?
—–