Retrieving the Box

I shifted uncomfortably in the post office line, impatiently waiting for my turn at the counter. Two tellers stood at their stations, each with a customer. A woman was in line ahead of me with what I could only assume was an insignificant request. Let’s move this along, people. I have a very important package waiting for me, I thought to myself. No longer paying attention to the other patrons, my eyes began to dart around, taking in my surroundings. Shelves of packages lined the wall behind the counter. Which one was destined to be mine?

I glared at the woman in front of me as she was called to the newly available teller. I hoped her post office need required little assistance as I did not enjoy the growing anticipation I felt. “I need the stamps with bonsai trees”, she demanded.

“Um…hmmm…” the female teller hesitated, looking at the display of available stamps. “I don’t see that stamp. These are the ones we have” she explained as she pointed to a bulletin board affixed to the wall.

“Oh. Ok…” The customer pondered her selection as fury began to burn within me like lava. With every “hmmm” and “ummm” the fury bubbled up, threatening to spill out as manifestation of angry words. HURRY THE FUCK UP! ALL THE STAMPS DO THE JOB FINE, JUST PICK ONE!

After what felt like an eternity, she pointed to the forever stamps tacked to the bulletin board. “I guess get me those” she instructed. Slowly, more customers were expanding the line behind me. Eager to get the queue moving, the teller quickly pulled a sheet of stamps from her desk and put an end to the excruciating transaction. It was then that I heard the most beautiful sentence ever spoken to me: “Ma’am? I can take you at this desk.”

It was as if God himself was calling me to the gates for expedited entry. The boiling vat of rage was instantly cooled. I handed the teller my pink postage slip. “You guys have a package for me”--I spit out the words as if I had a very limited time to speak them. She took the slip from my hands and walked to the back shelves. She began plucking through slim packages. I felt impatience growing in me again as I spoke to myself.  Those are too small. Start looking at the bigger packages…come on…a little to the left…She followed my direction as if she could hear my thoughts. “Ah, here it is” she stated as she pulled a royal blue Reebox shoebox down from the shelf.

I was beaming with delight as she set the box in front of me. My mouth was stuck in a smile and I could not force it into any other shape. I signed for the package and quickly made an escape for my car, the precious cargo supported by both of my hands. I secured it in my passenger seat and began the commute back to work. Like a mother using her arm to protect her child during an abrupt stop, I stretched my right appendage across the box buckled into the seat. I would NOT allow any harm be done to this package. I’ve waited too long for its arrival.

It wasn’t until I was safely at my work desk with the package that I felt it was finally OK to celebrate. “VICTORY IS MINE!” I announced to Work Wife as I burst through the front office door. Like Arthur with Excalibur, I raised the box high above my head in triumph. I couldn’t be sure, but I could swear it was its own light source.

Gently, I placed the box on my desk and admired it. Clear packing tape sealed every crack and affixed the list of contents to the side. I refused to read it, allowing myself to be surprised only after looking inside. I slowly ran my finger across the postage, reading aloud its script: “AUSTRALIA.” I stared at the word, big and bold. I reached for the scissors resting by my computer.

My fingers caressed every edge of the package as I looked for the optimal opening point. I decided on a well taped spot on the front of the box—the spot that would release the lid, exposing the contents.

Slowly, I sunk the blade into the box...

Have you ever seen that commercial for the vibrator, the one with the catch line "It's so good it'll blow your hair back", as the camera pans over a group of women who look like they've spent too much time in front of an industrial strength fan?

I just experienced that.