It’s my job to deliver parcels as well as the mail. I deliver large parcels from my van before I park to walk with my satchel on. I’ll ring the doorbell if I need a signature or if the parcel is too large to put inside the mailbox. Well here comes someone to sign for this particular parcel – a sword.
“Hi, I’ve got a parcel for Ryan.”
“That’s me,” claimed the very handsome young man in front of me. When I say handsome I mean it. He wasn’t just a good looking guy, he was strikingly handsome. The kind of handsome that makes you feel substandard and angry.
“If you wouldn’t mind signing here, in this box,” I said pointing to the appropriate space. He did so.
“Hey do you have anything else for me?”
“Probably. I’ve still got to walk the mail.”
“I’m waiting for a little packet,” he says.
“How little?” I ask.
“Should be like this big,” he says with his hands spread about 4 inches apart.
“Yeah, well if I have that it’s probably mixed in with the mail.”
“Could you go check?
“… I could. I’d have to dig through everything. All my bundles of mail, you know?”
“Oh. Well. We wouldn’t want that.”
Excuse me? Did this guy just joke with me or was he being the dick I assumed he was. I looked him in the eyes to search for any inkling of tomfoolery. He wasn’t joking.
“If you can wait for ten minutes, I’ll be by with your mail.” I said.
“Sure. Wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”
The same non-joke again? Do people really think the passive aggressive thing works? It kind of does.
For some reason I went to my van and unbundled my mail. I flipped through everything and a couple minutes later I found it – his little package. It rattled. Pills, for sure. Dick growing pills. Maybe steroids.
I ran back up to his door and knocked. He looked pleased to see me. “Is this what you were looking for? Small dick pills?”
“Yeah that’s great. Thanks.”
This guy lives at 12211 52 st.