The Weird Kid
Monday, December 8, 2008
In a Net-fix
What the old-man postal worker voice said to me over the phone.
"Ma'am, you're going to have to learn to take some responsibility for your errors."
What I said.
Nothing. And then, "Thank you for your time." Because you can't be rude to a person who is the link to your only option.
What I thought.
First of all, it was in no way my error. Sean put the wrong movie in the Netflix sleeve, not me. And the fact that it was the bootleg he'd just burned, proudly bearing the Sharpied title of the movie that was supposed to be in that sleeve, only makes this more urgent. I need those Netflix back or they might ban me when they see we're bootlegging them. I don't have television. All I have are those goddamn Netflix.
Second of all, I never asked to have my mailbox converted to that monstrous block uni-box with it's un-negotiable mail deposit slot that not even the bent coat hanger we tried to pry the movie out with can penetrate.
Third, of course I can't perfectly prove they are mine! My address was printed on the part of the envelope I ripped off to open it! Its very clever packaging and more efficient that way, dammit.
And lastly, that is a very rude, unnecessary way to answer the question, "What time does the postal carrier stop at my box?" And I only didn't tell you that (though, you horrid thing I have so many unvoiced screams seeking release), because you have something I desperately need, you nasty little blue minion.
I hope this ends well.
"Ma'am, you're going to have to learn to take some responsibility for your errors."
What I said.
Nothing. And then, "Thank you for your time." Because you can't be rude to a person who is the link to your only option.
What I thought.
First of all, it was in no way my error. Sean put the wrong movie in the Netflix sleeve, not me. And the fact that it was the bootleg he'd just burned, proudly bearing the Sharpied title of the movie that was supposed to be in that sleeve, only makes this more urgent. I need those Netflix back or they might ban me when they see we're bootlegging them. I don't have television. All I have are those goddamn Netflix.
Second of all, I never asked to have my mailbox converted to that monstrous block uni-box with it's un-negotiable mail deposit slot that not even the bent coat hanger we tried to pry the movie out with can penetrate.
Third, of course I can't perfectly prove they are mine! My address was printed on the part of the envelope I ripped off to open it! Its very clever packaging and more efficient that way, dammit.
And lastly, that is a very rude, unnecessary way to answer the question, "What time does the postal carrier stop at my box?" And I only didn't tell you that (though, you horrid thing I have so many unvoiced screams seeking release), because you have something I desperately need, you nasty little blue minion.
I hope this ends well.
posted by Imez at 2:05 PM
5 Comments:
oh, no! nice re-telling of your mess, though, and let us know how it turns out!
Oh, damn. I hate it when that happens!
Why don't you have t.v.?
heidi- I can't wait for the post lady a block from my house in winter with the baby, so, my fate is in netflix's hands now.
fancy- I don't have a TV because I intended to be a person of superior intellectual fiber...and it did not work. No it didn't. Not at all.
...and we all moved away from Imez on the Group W bench.
Funny. To me, anyway....Hope you got it! :)
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