Holy crap. Wow.
I have a p.o. box because of two extremely scary incidents back when I was in a position to have scary incidents. I’ve relaxed a lot about that stuff, price but it’s still there in the back of my mind. I rarely get mail delivered to my home and when I do, diagnosis I use my initials.
I compulsively bought a pen/spycam for $25 on some gadget site and decided to have it delivered to the house as it fits in with my approaching winter massive depression plan of never leaving the house ever again. I used DC as the name on the order.
There was a slip in the mailbox explaining that I had to go to the laurel canyon post office to pick up the package.
But first, viagra buy let’s travel back in time a few years.
We’re at the post office near the burbank airport on Lankershim Blvd. I went to mail a bunch of postcards for spamscam and there was a very horrific lady behind the counter who literally yelled at me because the metered postage was for the previous day. “YOU BUY NEW POSTAGE NOW OR I THROW AWAY!!! YOU BUY NOW!!!! I THROW AWAY!!!!” She was trying to grab the cards out of my hand. I escaped with my life and the cards. (one simply needs to re-stamp with the meter set at $0.
Because I’m becoming that kind of guy, I wrote a snail mail letter to the postmaster and lo and behold, a week later, the postmaster CALLED ME ON THE PHONE and APOLOGIZED. He was telling me that woman was nothing but trouble and he wanted to fire her but couldn’t because it was the post office and it’s really difficult to fire people. It was so cool.
Back to the matter at hand…
I walk in to the post office and I hand the slip to the woman who akses’ss’s to see my ID. The slip says “DC” on it and my license has my full name Dean Cameron Eikleberry. There’s a bit of a back and forth about the initials. I have a credit card with Dean Cameron on it. She starts giving me a hard time. I try to ‘splain (as ricky ricardo would say) how I use my initials for home deliveries. She grabs my drivers license and heads back to the bowels of the post office. I gently call after her “If it’s a problem, give me license back and I’ll leave. it’s not a big deal.” To which she replies “You gonna cry ’bout it?” After a pause I reply “No, are you?”
Then she disappears. When I say five minutes, I mean five minutes. I hear her talking to someone in the back. The tone doesn’t sound like “where is this package” but “how was lunch… where are you going for vacation…”.
She returns with the package and stands behind a half-door about 10 feet behind the main counter area where there is some sort of machinery used for processing packages, etc. Another employee shows up and they start talking about how a window is being replaced. I think. Something like that.
Another customer shows up with a slip and stands behind me. I give him a look implying that he is in for it. He holds up the same sort of slip I had. We have a bit of an exchange concluding that he should have brought a comfy chair. He says he’s been through this before. Hmm..
The woman says “You come here!” At this point I realize that this is the same woman from the Lankershim office who I complained about.
I head back to her. She gestures to the little machine and holds out the package which has my drivers license on top. I begin signing the machine and grab the package, she pulls it back from me. “YOU SIGN FIRST!!!” Because, you know, she has to see my signature to verify it’s me or something before she releases control of the package. She’s concerned about security. We actually struggle for control of the package. I consider elbowing her in the throat and running but figure that I lose that way. She then pushes the package at me.
She’s really insanely pissed now (so am I, obviously) and says “PRINT! PRINT NAME! YOU PRINT NAME!!!” She bangs on the face of the machine “THERE. PRINT NAME! THERE!” I print my name and hit enter, which bugs her because she wasn’t able to tell me to hit enter. I know this because she says “ENTER! PRESS ENTER!!”
“NOW I KNOW YOU. I KNOW ADDRESS NOW. I WATCH OUT FOR YOU! I KNOW WHO YOU ARE NOW!”
I wonder to myself if it’s possible to actually kick someone in the ovaries. Instead, I say.
“I remember you. You used to work at Lankershim, didn’t you?”
You know in cartoons how cats look when they’re electrocuted? They go stiff and airborne and there’s that squiggly line around them? That’s how she looked.
“THAT NOT ME! THAT SOMEONE ELSE!”
I get wayyy calm and turn and leave.
“Oh yeah, I totally remember you. I complained about you. It is you.”
“THAT IS NOT ME!!! THAT IS NOT ME!!!”
She slams the little half door behind me and I leave the other customer there. Poor fella.
I wonder what she’s going to do to our mail now.