I am going by a friend's house on Sunday because her husband is in the hospital and another friend is driving up from Watertown (a considerable but not outrageous distance, for those of you not in our geographic area) to drop off some food she made for the family. I have no such offering as my stove is condemned, but I have a greeting card. Besides, my Watertown friend is going to give me some pumpkin cupcakes, so this is a necessary trip.I get to the house a little earlier than I expect -- it's really difficult to judge I-93 north traffic regardless of the day of the week or the time of day. My friend with the husband in the hospital lives on a cul-de-sac. I don't want to park in the driveway, so I decide to park in front of the house. The only problem is that someone visiting another neighbor has parked partlyin front of her house. That leaves me with the spot in front of the mailbox.
No worries, I tell myself; there's no mail delivery on Sunday. No mail truck will be honking my ass out of the way. I should be good to stay. I am minding my own business playing games on my cell phone when I hear a car round the cul-de-sac. Decent! Must be my Watertown pal! I look up and see...
Damnation. It's the MAILMAN in his white mini-box van with the blue and red striped logo. The freaking mailman ... on a SUNDAY.
He circles the neighborhood three times, opting to mosey past the driveway where my car is parked just beyond, just off the street, just in front of --Oh, shit. I am parked in front of my friend's mailbox. I park here believing that there is no mail delivery on Sunday, and I now witness my own epic fail. By the time I start the car and get ready to put it into gear, the disgusted mailman has driven away.
Oh, well. Sorry, my friend. Perhaps I saved you a day or two from an unwanted bill or invoice. In that case, "You're welcome!" Honestly, I doubt the mailman was there for my friend, anyway, because I'm sure he would've either told me to move or simply handed the mail through my car window. [P.S. I get the pumpkin cupcakes, which barely survive the fifteen-minute drive home, so it's not an epic failure of a trip after all.]
