14.10.08

Texter vs. Snail Mail

The mailbox is a non-modernized necessity that I sincerely hope never changes. I hope that technology never advances to the point of overriding snail-mail, and the like. I hope that the eager anticipation that builds inside of me as I brave the elements and trek to the mail box is never taken away; Because THAT, my friends, is a feeling that cannot be replaced by a new toy from Radio Shack.

In the Enclave Village, construction is being done. So much so, in fact, that a couple weeks ago, they disassembled our mailboxes, unscrewed the foundations, and leaned them against the nearest wall to keep them out of the way. After finding these disassembled mail-boxes, our postman (woman) refused to deliver to our apartment complex, for reasons of safety. Because of this, our post was (is) held at the Provo post office. It is a bit of a drive, so we have only made the trip 3 times since our mail started to be held... about 3 weeks ago. This being said, the anticipation I mentioned in the last paragraph is only magnified when one of us takes a trip to the post office. The odds of receiving mail when the parcels are only brought home once a week are significantly higher than the odds of receiving mail when they are brought home every day.

Today, I took one of these trips to the post-office. As I walked into the boxy looking room (no pun intended) I glanced around at my fellow post office visitors. There was a balding man at one of the desks, an elderly woman in a long, floral patterned dress at the other, and a man with a smug, I'm-the-CEO-of-a-very-successful-company look on his face at the front of the line. I thought to myself, "Cool. I shouldn't be here for too long."

The elderly woman finished paying for the shipping on her bulky package, and slowly exited. The man in front of me made his way to the service desk, and I took my place at the front of the line. A few minutes passed, and gradually a line started to build behind me. Specifically one man, right behind me.

As the wait began to get uncomfortable, I heard him audibly sigh numerous times. "What's this guy's problem," I thought as I glanced up at the man. He was probably 6'5" with graying hair, wrinkles, a plaid, long sleeved shirt. Probably a farmer. He looked to be around 50. I tried to get a glimpse at his demeanor, but he had sunglasses on, so the attempt was fruitless. I trusted my first impression: Annoyed at the world. I was texting Katie at around this time. We weren't texting about anything specific or important, (Katie will probably beg to differ, haha. Love you, Kate.) just back and forth banter, really. As I finish sending a particularly witty text, the man behind me decides it's time for a conversation between the two of us.
"You know, my phone has this really cool feature-- you push a button and then say, 'hello.'"
Loud, raspy chuckling follows, and I gave him a little courtesy laugh. Little laugh, big courtesy.
"Heh, heh.. Yeah." Funny guy.
I turned away from him, hoping that that would be the entirety of the conversation. I get annoyed at sarcastic, ornery, old men fairly easily, and so I told myself to just ignore him instead of coming up with some sort of retort. Unfortunately, he had other plans.

The following conversation may not be an exact replica of the conversation I had in the post-office some hours ago; but, it is by no means, exaggerated.

Him: "My kids, I've got seven of them. They're always trying to get me to text. Sometimes they'll send me these important messages through texting, but I'm like d*mn. Can't find 'em, and don't want to. Stupid little messages. I hate my cell phone. Every time it rings, I want to huck it at the nearest person. My kids keep trying to teach me-- but I won't do it. And WHY is this line taking so long? How was your summer?"
Me: "Erm...Uh... Yeah. It was good. I just worked."
Him: "Hah. We went down to Bear Lake. Took the horses down there. Me and my seven kids. My wife came, too. You see? That's why everyone should have horses. Do you work in an office? I could never work in an office. I smell too bad."
Me (Legitimately not knowing what to say): "Uh.. "
Him (Yelling at the postal-workers/people who have been sending stuff for the last 10 mintues): "Hey! Get this moving! I've grown a beard in the time we've been standing here."
Me: "..."
Nice, balding man at the post-office desk: "Oh, heavens to betsy! Where did this little line come from?"
Him: (Curse words) "Huh, I wonder!?! Anyway, what I was saying, cell phones. Satan invented them."
(Desk opens up, and smug, business man exits post office.)
Him: "Well would you look at that. Next time, make a stink for yourself."
Me (Walking up to the register): "Um, yeah. Have a nice day..."



I then got the packages and parcels being held at the post office for my apartment and walked out to my car...
Where I discovered there was no mail for me.

Bring it on, Radioshack.

3 comments:

kendra said...

haha! You always seem to meet the strangest people, but it makes for some good stories!

I love mail, real mail. I can't wait until the stupid construction is over.

love.

brooke said...

this made me lol.

kaTie said...

I laughed, I cried, I was a bottle of emotions... it happens.
this was great.