Wednesday, August 25, 2010


I had a rather quiet morning...sewing...listening to music...just chilling out, really. These are some of the new placemats I'm working on. I have the fabric cut out so far...hopefully I'll add them to my shop tomorrow.

And then I went to the post office.

Pretty boring, yes? no no no no.

I show up at the post office with my latest eBay shipment at around 10:40am, expecting the place to be as usual. I walk in to find that it does not, in fact, open until 11:00am. Bummer...but no big deal. There was already an older man waiting inside before I got I figured I would just put on my big girl panties (again) and just wait it out.

I stand at the counter placing the final touches on my box..and begin drumming my fingers on the sides...hoping time will move just a little bit faster. A few people walk in---and assuming that I am the most knowledgable person around---ask me questions about when the office would be open ......if there is a stamp machine...where the ticket dispenser many kids I know..the basics. Some people get fed up and leave...but the proud few--like me--are determined to stick it out. It's only 3 more bad can it be, right?

Oh dear. If I could only see.

Another 2.5 minutes creep by...and the p.o. staff begin to set up shop....counting the cash drawer...greeting all of us a nice cheery morning...opening the gate where the TICKET DISPENSER is...

The next thing my unassuming eyes dare to behold, is a tall blonde woman (man?) storming through just about the time the pearly gate (guarding the golden tickets, of course) slid open.

Immediately, she bursts over to grab the first any sound minded individual could see...there were at least 10 people in line at this point.

Ok....maybe she will just wait her turn after she realizes how long the line is...and that we've all been waiting here for at least 20 minutes...we're all adults...right??


As soon as she grabs her ticket and scurries her skinny little sun-tanned self up to the counter to be first...I feel the rage boiling up inside me.

Molten Lava.

Other people in line begin to follow suit and rush to get their tickets..because...obviously...this was going to be a blood bath. I finally get there, and a nice man gave me his ticket because I'd been waiting there longer...or he feels guilty...hard to tell. I take it, say thank you, and remember the little old man who had been waiting there so patiently. I give the ticket to him...and return to my post to keep guard.

The forces are at the ready.

Deep breaths.

Various individuals in line, including me, begin hollering out things like:

Hey lady...we were here first! Who do you think you are? Why don't you try waiting in line like the rest of us?

The mail clerk calls out the first number. The infamous number 65. Determined, woman makes her move.

Finally, the little old man with his shaking cane speaks his piece.

Oh...but she would have NONE of that.

She promptly begins berating the poor guy...telling him that he's stupid...and that anyone with a BRAIN would realize that SHE had the first number....oh and she throws in a few about how she hates South County and that we're all stupid.


She and the man bicker back and forth with a few interjections from the postal worker asking her to calm down. I threw in a few of my own...very much ignored....but at this point....the rage has emerged to my skin and nerves.


Not even kidding.

And THEN I realize that she has a man with her. He is very much shorter than she...and is telling all of us that she has been injured in Iraq and that her brain isn't right. That she is disabled. That her dog just died.


The worker decides to let the old man go first, since he knew well and good he'd been standing there for quite a while.

He hobbles very slowly up to the counter....the irate woman yelling obscenities at him the entire way....makes his transaction...and slowly hobbles out.

The woman refuses to be served until the man had left the room.

No, I will not move over! He's still here. He won't leave! Make him leave!!

To keep myself from charging her and ripping all of her hair out, I decide to just stand and stare at her 4" platforms. Nice.

Her man is still making brain injury excuses for her.

A few minutes later, the little old man finally exits the building, and she jumps in to be served. Because it's her turn. She has #65.

And then she started taping her bright pink package.


The line has easily grown to 15 patiently waiting (but very annoyed) people...staring at her in utter disbelief.

I am literally about to black out.

She finally pays for her shipment and catwalks out....her little man not far behind.

He's still making excuses as he passes each person in line.

At this point, I begin to see that my emotional involvement in this situation is ridiculously stupid...and I plead with God to help me calm down.

And then I start laughing.

Just when I think that my life is so freaking boring...I get to witness something so absurdly wild.


I asked God to forgive me for letting my anger control me. And for judging her...because maybe she does have some sort of injury. And for my pride...because even if she doesn't...Jesus still hung for her...just like He did for me. I really feel sorry for the woman. She seemed very unhappy.
Maybe Beth could offer her some Butt Paste. I'm sure that would make her feel better...

And I chuckled to myself the whole way home.


1 comment:

  1. You do have rage Katie. I love how you write, it's fun.

    Thanks for that picture by the way... wow, I gained weight during that pregnancy. Good Gracious.

    See you tonight you rage filled beast!!! :)