My sweet Momma sent me a package for my birthday (which was October 12, about 7 weeks ago). I expected it to get here, oh I dunno, the end of November.
After my birthday, I asked my office-landlady's-assistant-girl which neighborhood post office I should go to if I had a package to pick up. She told me that I wouldn't even have to worry about it: she would get the phone call from the office and she would pick it up for me! Cool!
And November came and went.
Ugh.
Could it be that maybe those jerks kept my package!
So, I finally got fed up and just CALLED the Post Office myself. And the lady's like "Yah! You've got one!"
ACK! If you want something done right, you better do it yourself!
So I bussed over there, terrified of them telling me this package is going to cost $240 or something. I began to feel like I was going to an audition. And all my ex-boyfriends were the judges. Yikes! I took out the big bills of my wallet, just in case I'd have to put on a big show: "Oh, I don't have $50! I only have a $20! That's all I have!" (cue back of hand to forehead)
So I waltzed in there, in my nasty gym clothes (wearing them helps the drunk men sober up enough to recoil) and got the attention of the lady behind the counter. She was actually nice & efficient (by Grenada standards), and it only cost $5.75 EC ($2.14 US)! I got the feeling that the post office folks didn't hate me, but wanted me out of there. Fine by me!
Inside the little box, were Dove chocolates (that were gone two days ago), a birthday card, and a nice, specialized fiber supplement I asked for. I was tickled pink!
Here's the clencher: I think the date of arrival was written on the box: 10-21-11. Sigh.
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