Today, when I pulled up to the post office, saw that it was packed, and STILL went in anyway; I thought to myself "I'm triumphing over my anxiety! I'll be able to write an inspiring tale on my blog tonight!" Alas, that is not meant to be.
It all started out well enough. I was there on a mission to mail a pillow back to a guest that had forgotten it. We didn't have a big enough box at the hotel, so I was literally standing in a HUGE line of people holding nothing but a stranger's pillow. Now, maybe this seems like no big deal to you well adjusted folk, but here's where I tell you that I have my name on my shirt and a hideous scarf accentuating hips that have no business being accentuated (mine).
So, I'm feeling good, still congratulating myself on getting out of the van and into the building. I'm serendipitously perusing the packing materials and glancing fervently at the people at the counter, hoping someone will take pity on the weirdo in the ugly scarf holding the dirty pillow. Then I realize (read: remember from past experiences) that the employees at this post office are the least helpful people on the planet (except for 'cute post office guy' who wasn't working, of course) and that I better get my shit together before I got to the counter.
This is where the triumphant moment where I walked up to the counter and inquired as to how to send this goddamn pillow would have gone, had I actually done that. What actually happened? Glad you asked.
I walked out. I went to Walmart, bought a box ($.94) and went back to the hotel. While I packaged the pillow, I rambled out a lame story to my coworkers about how the post office employees were dicks to me (I know I lied, but let's face it, had I balled up and asked for help, they totally would've corroborated my assumptions(and that's how prejudice works)). Then, I took my fancy packaged pillow and went BACK to the SAME post office, waited in line again, and finally sent that godforsaken pillow back to the pit of hell from whilst it came.
The moral of this (too damn) long post?
*Don't leave your shit in hotel rooms, because an anxiety-ridden hotel employee can only venture this close to the edge of her sanity once...per week.*
If you stayed for all of that, you're probably my mom and I probably could have just written "I went in public today" and she would've deduced this whole saga.
Also, if you're still here, check the sick parentheses within parentheses shit up there ^^ mad skills: I've got them