I have been coming to the post office twice a week, every week for a few years now. Why is it that you insist on acting like you don't know me? Why is it that you ask to see a business card proving that I am, in fact, Secondsister Jewelry every time I ship internationally?
I know that I may look different from time to time. On occasion I do come in, sweaty, with a bandanna on my head. Sometimes I look like a frumpy mother of twenty with my hair pulled back in a sharp bun, apron and no make-up. I can also look like I just stepped out of a fashion mag with sixties eyeliner and platform wedgies. What can I say? I'm an eclectic kind of gal.
And I do tend to wear sunglasses. I mean this is sunny Southern Cal. However, unlike in the movies, wearing sunglasses does not prevent people from recognizing me.
I know, that you know, exactly who I am.
And would it kill you to make a little small talk? Are you not at all curious as to what kind of jewelry I'm shipping? Where I all of a sudden acquired three little Mexican kids? If I'm having a nice day?
I understand that working at the post office can be trying. What's that people say about "going postal"? And I know you must be bitterly disappointed that your crush on Dale didn't come to anything. (Don't think I didn't notice) I'm pretty sure you just aren't his type. He likes women who, you know, smile and all.
I usually try to work it so that I end up in Dale's line, but I have a plan for you Linda. Next time I come in I will be sporting a black eye and greasy matted hair. I will fill out the customs sheet to declare that I am shipping one bloody toe and a few loose teeth. Value? One gold crown worth $45. I will be showing the photo ID of my good friend Metre, who is fifty-two and African -American. I will look you strait in the eye, hand you a ball of dirty wadded up dollars and tell you that no, I'm not shipping anything flammable, hazardous or restricted.
If then, dear Linda, you still have nothing to say to me, well, I'll let you be, and rest assured that you are, in fact, a lobotomy recipient.
April (you know who)
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