The End Of The Postal Story

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This morning I decided to lug all the packages to our friendly local post office. They know me by name there and are normally quite helpful.

It was a bit crowed this morning. Lots of little old ladies picking up their mail, people standing in line for two cent stamps and a few college students in line with questions about mailboxes. I trotted in and out, bringing in my packages and stacking them up against the wall. A friendly lad with a ARMY shirt on continually kept the door open for me and made the whole ordeal a little easier.

I deposited all my boxes in a rather large pile against the wall and waited in line. Everytime I was about to go up to the counter a wee old lady would come in who just needed a stamp or someone with a very simple problem. I really didn't want to keep them waiting through the mailing of eight whole packages, so I let them in front of me. As I waited, I chatted amiably. People asked, of course, what the packages were, where they were going. I let the lad in the ARMY shirt know once he got out of boot camp (he was leaving in two weeks) to send me his address and I would happily mail him cookies.

I finally was able to start weighing the packages when the postmaster stopped me cold. When addressing the packages, I had mistakenly thought that they could put postage anywhere on the packages. It also happened that the most convenient spot to address the packages was the upper right hand corner. Who was the woefully ignorant one now?! That's right. The homeschooled one standing balefully in front of the counter. So I had to readdress all of the packages in the lower righthand corner. Now, please understand this is the very same post office that allowed my sweet blue-eyed and blonde-haired sister to mail a snickers bar AND a coconut. ARE THERE EVEN UPPER RIGHT HAND CORNERS ON COCONUTS?! How dare he reject my packages! But I meekly comply.

This gave the audience of patrons and the postmaster much time to inspect the artwork of my little brother who had attacked the cookie boxes with a sharpie. To put it lightly, his sense of humor is a wee tad dark and twisted. The proclamations on the sides of the boxes included:

Guns are cool

Violence IS the answer

The south may rise again but we'll be sure to wait for ya'll to get back and party

Tips for befriending Christian infantrymen. 1. Do not say 666 is your lucky number. 2. Avoid tattooing genitalia with pentagrams and swastikas (pictures included). 3. Avoid referring to yamalukes as "Jew hats".

That was just a sampling of his handiwork. As I scrawled out addresses, they LOUDLY read them off the sides of the boxes. I scrawled faster.

"That's really not funny."

"Yes, sir. I know. But you see, my little brother got ahold of it..."

"Ahem. I see."

I receive various gun control arguments from the patrons of the lobby.

I finally finish readdressing and THEN he hands me the customs forms. My hand is a blur at this point and my writing beyond illedgible. I finish everything and meekly wait for my total.


I pay and collect my rejected oversized package and try to leave as unobtrusively as possible. No more questions regarding decorations please! Let me just send my cookies in peace! I realize my brother is a little crazy, but I like him that way! HOW ABOUT YOU JUST SHUT YOUR WORD-HOLES AND STOP CONDEMNING ME! Next time YOU send cookies you can feel FREE to lecture me then.

As I left, an elderly gentleman touched my elbow and winked. "I wouldn't have minded cookies from a pretty thing like you when I was over there. Wouldn't have cared what the box said or how crazy the little brother was. As long as he wouldn't have shot me when I came back to properly thank you and take you out to dinner."

3 Responses to “The End Of The Postal Story”

  1. Anonymous vdoprincess 

    Well, at least SOME little old men know a good thing when they see it! And what do you want to bet that every single one of those soldiers dies laughing when they read their package? Because I have the feelng that when you're near the front lines of a battle, your sense of gets a wee tad twisted.

  2. Anonymous steelcowboy 

    I think, like people, it's the contents inside that counts ;)

  3. Anonymous Porkchop 

    Or some old men just want cookies!

    SC- The packages were actually quite funny... if you have a warped sense of humor like the rest of our family!

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This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.

I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.

the past


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