I finally made it to the off ramp. The chaos behind me on the interstate was fading from my mind as I began contemplating the horrors that awaited me at home. I live in a small town so it is customary for motorists to wave to one another in passing. I mostly just get the finger. Today was no different.
I figured that my wife might throw fewer blunt objects at me if I stopped to get the mail before going to the house. People in small towns tend to move pretty slowly. The elderly especially. When they see me driving through town, they manage to move pretty fast though. When I turned on to Main Street on my way to the post office, Mrs. Bergen who is a resident of the local nursing home was crossing the street with her walker. As I approached, I was going to give her a friendly wave, but she hoisted her walker above her head and broke into a sprint as soon as she caught sight of my vehicle. She must've been in a hurry. No worries, I thought, the post office was less than a block away anyhow.
The scene at the local post office was typical. People coming in and out. Folks chatting on the sidewalk near the door. The busier ones would walk by and put their mail in the drop box while moms were trying to keep their children out of everybody's way. I must have shown up at just the right time because as I pulled into a parking space, I noticed that everyone was suddenly finished with their business and they began to disperse... rapidly. So I entered the post office unhindered and got my mail.
Nothing much in the mail today. Bills, pre-approved credit applications that aren't really pre-approved, a couple of shut-off notices, and a birthday card to one of my children from the refrigerator repair man. Come to think of it, that thing breaks down an awful lot. He's a nice enough guy though, he always come out to fix it for free.
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