This is what I get for being so lethargic.

I bought the wrapping paper for my brother's birthday gift two days after I bought the greeting card and the box to ship it in. I bought the greeting card and the box to ship the gift in three days after I bought the actual gift.

And I bought the actual gift two days after his birthday.

That's about a week late, for those who are counting.

But, as late as it is, it's not "never," and still, I kinda gave a sigh of relief as I drove in the parking lot of the Post Office, because this was something that I had to accomplish--and today.

And then, I looked at the other cars, and gave a slight sigh of frustration. Apparently, other people had to get things accomplished today, too.

I grabbed my box, and walked toward the door, and when I looked to the left and the right, I saw a group of us who looked like we were on a crash course toward the door. There was a older lady on the right who had a thick envelope. There was an really, really, really older gentleman on the right with a really, really, really think envelope. And slightly in front of all of us, there was a younger (thought slightly older than me) lady with a five-year old in tow, and a Tupperware bin the size of a larger laundry basket in her hands, which is full of several smaller packages...

...Great.

She, ironically, would be the one to hit the door first. I, less than ironically, would be the one to get to the door last.

Now, this isn't your bigger post office, where there's a long line and only one person available to help customers. This is the small-town-America post office, where it's a lot smaller, a lot more relaxed, and there's still only one person available to help customers.

Being last, I walk in, and I see the line only consists of the four of us who just walk in. I also see the lady in front, with the tub full of packages, have some sort of moment where she remembered and episode of 'Oprah' and started doing one of those random acts of kindness.

She looks at the older lady, smiles, and lets her jump the line to get to the clerk. She looks at the older gentleman, and lets him get in line in front of her.

Then she looks at me, with my one box, and simply turns around like I'm not even there...

I can't believe this b*tch ignored me like that!

[Blogger's note: I'm interrupting this blog to let you, the reader, know that I would normally never call a woman a b*tch. But in this case, her looking at me and my one box, and then not caring that I'd have to wait for her and her 45,000 boxes, is what I like to call 'a b*tch move.' It was incredibly blatant, and incredibly rude. In addition, it's not a sexist statement, for if a man would have done something like that, he'd be a b*tch too. In fact, if I had the tub of packages and she had one, if I did not give up my spot, it would not be 'gentleman-like.' I would be called a b*tch in that situation. So, yes, I can call her one too.]

Okay... so where was I?

Yes, as I was mentioning, I can't believe that b*tch ignored me like that! So I gave this ugly scowl to the back of her head, like I was cursing her with a pimple, or something else that would ruin her prissy little life when I heard a gasp.

I looked down, and did a double take. The pink outfit, flowing brown hair, and the small book of the lady's little five year old were hiding under a corner of a post office counter. The eyes of that small child were fixated on me, and my scowl of pimple-death upon her mother, which, after noticing the child, made me smile. I knew I got my point across, although indirectly. That child was going to remember me.

In the time it took to wonder why this lady would not tell her child to get off of the floor and from under the counter of a business establishment it was the lady's turn in line. I could be wrong, but I believe she had packages going to 17 different states, and 2 foreign countries. And all I could do was stand, and wait, and stand, and wait, and stand, and wait...

Thankfully (or not, depending on how you look at it), I wasn't the only impatient one. The daughter had somehow found the courage to emerge from that dirty, dusty corner to start playing with the shipping supplies handing there for sale. She seemed to be partial to the ready-ship boxes that were sitting there, and made a valiant attempt to make a dollhouse out of about four of them.

You'd think that momma over there would have this 'parenting' thing down as much as she had the 'shipping' thing. But, alas, no. She did warn the little girl to stop, but carefully put two of the unfolded, un-taped, and (most importantly) unsold boxes back, and sternly warned her daughter that she could only play with those two boxes. No effort to buy them. No apology to the obviously annoyed postal clerk or the people in line...

...Oh, yeah, the people in line. There was a guy who tapped me on the shoulder and caught my attention. He also brought my attention to the people behind me. When I started, I was the only one waiting. Now there were six of us. The guy behind me, with a desperate look on his face, asks, "Is that whole tub full of her packages?"

I frowned my face and nodded my head. He shrugged, and when he shrugged, I saw just a simple yellow card in his hand. The poor guy wanted to just have his mail held while he was on vacation.

I pointed to the card, and said "I'll take it." He was more than pleased. And I was just glad that I accomplished something.

Meantime, the little girl had accomplished building her two-box fortress, and equally accomplished tearing the damn thing down. She had gone back to her corner under the counter to grab a half-gallon bottle of water, and the book she forgot earlier. Boredom has struck the little girl, and she wanted her mom to read her a story.

But no. Mom was busy. Still. In her well-thought of plan to annoy me even more, she had to "forget something." When the postal worker was about two-thirds done with processing all those packages, she ineptly asks... "Will I be able to track all of these packages?"

All I could do was grit my teeth. And by now, even the postal clerk, who was not happy to see the huge line forming behind this woman, was even more annoyed, as she had to grab every package she already processed, and now add delivery confirmation to each one.

Not to be outdone was the little girl, who wanted story time confirmation, and wanted it now. Mom, still only interested in the boxes, which were so close to being done, had an idea.

"Here, honey," She opened the book and fanned through the pages. "Why don't you look through the book, and find your favorite picture, and whatever picture you pick, we'll start reading from that page when we get home, okay? And you only get to pick one..."

She picked one in about three seconds. Either that, or story time didn't matter anymore, because she had to go to the bathroom.

And from the way this girl sounded, the "had" was in italics and in bold. She had to go to the bathroom. And the best mom could offer was "Can it wait until we get home?" That's it. Knowing there's no public restroom in this place. Knowing she had no choice but to go home, she still asked her child... a child... if it was okay. What was the other option? Seriously? What else was there?

The only other option for the little girl was to cry. Loudly. Annoyingly. Painstakingly crying. The type of crying that makes you go "thank you!" out loud when the lady finally pulled out her credit card to pay for her ninety-some-odd dollars in pure postage.  I knew my wait had finally been over.

I also knew that this was karma biting me in the butt. I knew this was my small, simple punishment for waiting too long to get a gift for my brother's birthday. And based on what happened today, it will never happen again.

And as that lady was taking her credit card back and getting ready to sign the charge slip, a figure came out of the shadows. That figure stepped up the counter, removed the "closed" sign, and bellowed, "Next, please!"

And I waited... for... how long?!?!?!?

That's what I get for being so lethargic.