Going Postal

We’ve all seen it, the inexplicable tantrum.  Such a mischievous way they bare their burgeoning head and erupt.  Standard location is the grocery store, or quite popularly, Super Target.  Typically a child who was simply in need of food, or a nap, or anything at all really – as long it is within the grasp of their tiny fingers.  Rarely would this been seen in an adult but that’s not to say it doesn’t happen.  This … is my story.

We had been in Australia only a few weeks (I never understand why people write “short” weeks – they are all seven days).  We were living on patio furniture and an aerobed.  I was able to select from the same clothes I brought with me on the plane, trying to mix various combinations to make them appear different – but they weren’t.  I knew that my Kings of Leon tee had just been paired with light wash jeggings and now I was trying to wear it again only a few days later with mid-calf black leggings – I was convinced everyone would notice.  By everyone I mean my new friends on TV I saw every morning  or the McDonald’s workers who handed me my frozen coke on my weekly visits to use the internet.  I had no internet at home, thus no convenient way to communicate with anyone I knew and my frequent visits to the store left me lacking the comfort foods I was searching out.  This all wouldn’t be too bad except that I also got sick.  Not the flu or something else that puts you out of commission, but moreso an attack of the ear, nose, and throat that keeps you relatively high-functioning yet extremely and utterly irritable.  It was the perfect storm.

My sister is wonderful.  She missed me too.  She was so kind to make me a care package – it was highly anticipated.  On Friday afternoon I got a notice in the mail that the post office had my package.  I realised that I didn’t have my photo IDs because I had taken them to Rob in the city that morning for travel arrangement purposes.  I grabbed every statement I could that had names and addresses as proof of identity.  After waiting in an incredulously long line I proudly handed the worker my card and the package emerged.  I could see it busting at the seems with American goodness; hints of barbecue sauce bottles and food magazines.  I provided the worker with my makeshift pile of statements and she shook her head.

Worker: I need your ID with address, love

Me: Funny story, that’s with my husband, but as you see here, these are documents which have my name printed on them and these are documents with my husbands name and our address!

Worker: Yes, but it doesn’t have your name and address on the same paper, love.

I was convinced at this point that she didn’t really love me, it’s just what they say here

Me: Yes, but see look, my name, my husbands name, our address, our marriage certificate.  Please hand over the package.

Worker: *rolls eyes* No

And this is where it gets ugly … Out of nowhere giant alligator tears erupt from my eyes

Me: *gulp* but. this. is. *hiccup* from. my. sister. *choke on tear* It’s. my. easter. package. *hiccup/ gulp*

WHERE THE H-E-DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS ARE THESE TEARS COMING FROM??? I am totally that person … making a scene in public … and uncontrollable scene … and I’m a foreigner …

Me still: It’s right here – in front of me. JUST GIVE IT TO ME!

Worker: *rolls eyes* just go and get your i.d. and come back and we’ll stay open after hours for you to pick up the package

I meandered down the street to the ferry which Rob would soon be arriving on, he would have my IDs with him.  As he disembarked and saw a sad specimen of his wife with tear stained cheeks I’m sure he was a bit concerned.  I told him as we walked back to the Post not to worry, and he’d be better off if he didn’t have the details of the sordid scene.

I was then able to obtain my package and cried tears of joy as I devoured chocolate Easter peeps one by one.

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