Friday, December 16, 2011

What Are They, Hysterical?

The angry guy barges into the UPS-type store as I'm making my credit card payment for some printouts. There's no one else in the store and the main counter is ten feet from the credit card machine. He strides over until he is almost on top of me, interrupting my conversation with the hot gentleman behind the counter and demanding the package he says he just got a call about. Yeah, man; my phone's been ringing.

The gentleman goes to look for it right away, but that's not good enough: angry guy is immediately out with "You just called me. It's here." A few seconds later he is shouting the whole package number in addition to his last name, then saying, "How hard is this?" He is standing so close to me that if I step back, I'll step on him.

Angry guy answers his own question, angry: "It's not hard, if you know how to read the alphabet."

About 30 seconds have elapsed since he made his initial demand. Five more seconds pass and he starts to dish out another disparagement.

"Is it really that bad having to wait a few seconds?"

"What!"

"Is it really so bad to have to wait a few seconds?"

"I wasn't talking to you. Mind your own--"

"You are right on top of me."

"I wasn't talking to you! I-"

"You are right on top of me. I don't want to listen to this."

"I wasn't talking to you!"

"Fine. I wasn't talking to you either."

He backs up, morphing another level up the angry-odometer to outraged guy, and takes his box from the clerk.

On the way out, he tells me from across the store: "Shut the fuck up."

"You have a nice holiday. I'll shut the fuck up, got it."

I neglect to thank him for pussy blocking me.

Later, an actual UPS guy raps on my door. I answer and he gestures downward toward the floor, where two UPS envelopes sit.

"There you go," he says, pausing for a moment in front of me. He's very attractive.

Yet, I'm kind of shocked to realize he has no intention of picking up the envelopes he's tossed down in front of my door. I've never had a delivery guy do that. Actually, I've never had a delivery guy in for coffee, with maybe a little cream, maybe a little sugar, and that's always seemed like a fun idea. But we're off to a bad start here with this envelope situation.

We look at each other for another long moment. He's very attractive is again my only thought (ignoring the envelope stalemate). Before I can say anything, he is muttering something about not needing to sign and taking off, halfway down the stairs before I have a chance to reply or inquire.

Where are all these men in New York City always rushing off to, anyway?

"Thanks," I say, picking my delivery up off of the ground.

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