I've been waiting on a medium sized Priority box since last week and it wasn't at the PO yesterday. I sighed, realizing the impending storm was soon approaching; Martin Luther King Day, combined with extreme weather hadst delayed my parcel.
Today as I awoke... I said "fuck this shit," donned my warmest business casual clothing available... took some diazepam, and trodded a mile or so along through untouched snowbanks and across sleet covered roads - usually more frequented.
I stopped and gentrified myself a bit by grabbing an overpriced, fair traded coffee (black with a small amount of turbano sugar) and approached my target.
The office itself is small, it could be called a suite. It's staffed by people that look like they're always 2 days from retirement... who give no fucks and have no clue... as they hand my box of contraband over the counter. Accepting it gracefully, I make friendly banter and learn more about the intricacies of USPS and the idiosyncrasies of its employees.
I've been doing this for years now.
I just applied to be a mail carrier. Turns out the lady who handed me my parcel was the manager.
Wish me luck.
Their should be a Mail Carrier for Darkness Society.