Lena’s been selling stuff on the eBay again. Times are tough, and in the time honored tradition of folks staring an unfunded mortgage in the eye we have started selling off pieces of our lives. This is done without rancor or regret, and even with a possible sense of accomplishment at having killed the mortgage-bird and the cleaning-out-the-back-room-bird with the same stone.
I guess. Lena’s the one doing all the work.
Well not all the work. Not quite anyway. There’s a UPS store just down the street from us where I take the packages after the treasures inside have been sold, boxed, and labelled by Lena. I run the stuff down there because Lena hates the guy who owns the place. He’s probably a nice guy, but he did take advantage of her once. She was sending a painting and he volunteered to box it up for her. She agreed, and when it was done, he charged her an extra fifteen dollars for it. She was a bit flummoxed, but really wanted to make that evening’s post, so she reluctantly agreed. That was when the guy told her that because the packaging was exactly one inch too big around, it would cost her three times as much to send it. Now the packaging had been WAY overdone, and the box was nearly twice the size of it’s contents. Lena asked the dude if he could repackage it in a smaller box, and he said that he certainly could, but it would cost her an additional fifteen dollars. So Lena, realizing that although she might have wanted her painting to go out that evening, she didn’t really need it to, tore the box and packaging off of her painting, and leaving a scattered pile of trash on the floor, left without paying or saying another word.
Point: Lena, but now I’m the one who has to go in.
Whenever we have stuff that goes out US Post, we print (uh… she prints) the postage out here at home from their website, and just drop it off there at the store, where it’s picked up by a regular postman. That way our stuff goes out quickly and the UPS dude doesn’t make anything from it. It’s a win-win — that’s where we win twice.
So I’m at the UPS store yesterday, and I’m on my way towards the door after dropping off my packages. There’s a woman staring at me between myself and the door. I didn’t know her, so I started to walk around, but then she addressed me.
“You look just like that guy…” Now at this point, I had already figured out what was coming. I should have just kept on walking. “You know, on that show? Do you watch Lost?”
“Whatsisname… with the curly hair…? Hurley! That’s it!” This wasn’t the first time someone had said this to me. But the other guy had been trying to provoke a fight in an elevator at Dragon*Con. I didn’t say anything then, and it had always bugged me.
“You mean the big fat guy?”
“The guy who always sweaty and stuffing his face with mayonnaise?”
“Um…” and she turned from me to the other two women in the store for support, which was not forthcoming. They were both glowering at her, one of them shaking her head slowly in obvious disapproval.
“Thanks.” I said, pointedly walking around her and leaving the store.
Now there are a couple of points that should be made here. One, is that Hurley was eating ranch dressing, and not mayo, in the face-stuffing scene. I was a little excited at the time and the mistake is mine. The next is that I guess I probably do look a little like Hurley. I’m pretty fat, have long curly hair and a beard. Still, having a stranger walk up to you in public and say something to the effect of, “Hey! You’re fat! You look just like this other fat guy I saw!” is not really a pleasant experience. In case you know anyone dusting off this line as an ice-breaker at their next cocktail party, let me jump in and say now that they won’t be as funny to the person they’re talking to as they are in their head. I don’t tell them of all the stupid people they remind me of.
My first thought leaving the store was to go home and cut off all my hair, but I soon realized I was being dumb. The real answer is to lose weight, not hair. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go for a walk.