“…next…”
A couple of hours ago I went to the local postoffice to pick up a package. I walk in, take a number, wait for my turn…and then…
When my number turns up on the screen, I go to the counter. But before I get there some spaced out hippie ( …3 minutes before this she repeatedly says the sentence ” Where the fuck are the fucking stamps”…and then decides to answer that question with a “shut up”…”) cuts right in front of me. Confused I take another look at my number, and sure thing…it’s my turn…I instantly grab the nearest table, flip it over and yell “WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON”…no…pulling your leg…I wait until ms. “I only eat fruit fallen from the sky…” is done. Then I step up to the counter and explain that the nice lady cut in front of me, so she doesn’t have to press the new number button…to which she replies ” what number do you have ?” I show her my slip..she looks to the screen showing my number…looks at me…looks at the screen…looks at me…and then the following piece of dialog emerges from the shadows of crazyland, like the nine degrees of hell in front of Dante…
Lady in counter : “what seems to be the problem”…
Me : ” well…my number is showing on the screen…but the hippie cut in front of me…”
Lady in counter : “…what ?”…
Me : “my number is showing on the screen but that lady took my spot…”
Lady in counter : “…what number do you have ?…”
Me : “the number on the screen, but..”
Lady in counter : “…but what:..”
Me : “I’m just telling you that you don’t have to press “next number”…’cause that lady “took”
my number…
Lady in counter : “…what number do you have ?.. ”
Me : “the number showing on the screen, but…”
Lady in counter : “…then what’s the problem ?..”
Me : “no problem…just wanted to tell you that if you’re a number ahead of schedule…”
Lady in counter : “…what?.. ”
At this point some jerk, probably there to pick up a USB-powered fondue-pot, comes up next to me, asking me “what’s the hold up ?”…
I tell him that for several months I’ve been having a secret crush on him, dreaming about the day when I could take him home to meet my family and adopt lots and lots of babyes…and I’m not even gay…The guy looks at me…the lady behind counter looks at me…
At this point I decide to go no further with this game of marco polo with Helen Keller…I give her my slip…recieve my package, and walk out…hoping that evolution, over the next two weeks, will take care of these scary people…
I get back…and my mom calls. Ever since I moved about 300 kilometers away, she somehow got the idea that you have to speak a bit louder in the old ring’a'ding-ding box. So every conversation starts with me asking her why shes yelling, to which she replyes “HELLO…HELLO…” Then she goes on to explain that she made a mistake at work…every month they send out a printed newsletter. But this month she put one guys name next to another guys photo. She says it’s no major problem, but she just wanted to ask if it’s possible to correct……after it’s printed…!!! I tell her to go to the nearest book shop and ask for a specifik pen…the Penol 777…I lower my voice and whisper “it’s a magic pen mommy…”
An hour ago she calls me up, telling me that she bought the pen, but it looks just like a regular pen…
It’s been a good day…
/ Busto