My Dream Woman Handles Packages With Care

I wrote this down as an idea and a concept sketch -- not for the sake of publishing, so the introduction is pretty by the book, so to speak. As I got more comfortable with what I was writing you can tell, and I sink a bit more naturally into the bit. Just figured it needed a disclaimer, as does all of my work:

I’m trudging up the stairs from the garage to my second floor apartment. It’s been a long, hard, arduous day of classes I didn’t want to go to and listening to lectures I didn’t want to hear. As I turn the corner of the basement and come up the stairs to the first floor landing, a familiar and welcome sight awaits me. It’s the post-woman, and she’s filling our boxes with all kinds of gifts and wonderous mysteries in 3”x11” envelopes. Seeing as how I’ve just completed a long day of working hard myself, I can empathize with this little miracle worker. Quaint and quietly, she sincerely and carefully places each package in their respective slots. I couldn’t even begin to imagine doing something so monotonous and tedious without frequently committing embarrassing errors. What strikes me the most is the sudden realization that, after a semester and a half of seeing this woman almost daily, I have yet to express my thanks for her dedication.

“That’s some hard work you’re doing there” I offer after two full minutes of standing there in silence. She hadn’t noticed me.

Wiping her brow with a tired forearm, she wrinkles her nose and half-pants a confused “’Scuse me?”

It was wheezy and raw, as if she was made from the Earth itself.

“I said that’s some hard work you’re doing there. I can’t imagine ever doing that job.”

Changing her body language, the post woman drops her crate of envelopes and packages and faces me, hands on her hips.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I-I’m sorry??”, I stammer helplessly.

“You think you’re something special huh? Just ‘cuz you live in this nice, new complex. Mommy and Daddy paying your bills and everything. Smartass. You think you’re gunna be something special in your business suit and little cubicle making them 6 figures!? You wouldn’t last a day in this work!”

I’m floored, to say the least. “I-I know..th-that’s what I was trying to--”

“Fuck you.” She spits.

The only thing I can do is slowly back into the stairwell. I do.

“…have a good day.” I manage to half-whisper.

I get a middle finger and one more profanity-laced farewell for good measure.

I should get some sleep.

Parking, ponds, and ducks.

A walk to class wouldn't be the biggest deal every now and then. It's not like I'm far from campus -- that was one of the appealing aspects of living here in the first place -- and the weather's been getting nicer by the week. I could additionally use some sun and, as always, some exercise.

Still, every day, I find myself grabbing the keys from the table on the way out and heading down to the basement to get my car. A brief drive to campus is complete in somewhere around 5 minutes, assuming I get most of the lights and no idiot pedestrians decide to jump out in front of my car when they're not supposed to be crossing. Neither of those is terribly unlikely here.

The problems begin, however, when the hunt for a parking spot begins.

It would be one thing if the kind, smiling demeanor exhibited by the population during Sunday morning church services somehow continued throughout the week. But they don't. Instead this place becomes a frothing, sadistic hunt -- like tribesman in some unknown and underdeveloped stretch of continent. An unoccupied spot is like sweet mana for a starving family of 6 back at the homestead and it is up to each driver to provide.

Every precious second lost in the desert of asphalt and concrete is a second lost either in the classroom, gaining the upper hand on the competition, or time spent not flirting one's way into eternal spiritual, social, and fiscal salvation. It is crucial that you find a spot...

...and find it fast.

It makes sense, then, that I was overcome with joy to find the perfect spot today on my way to Psych302. It was there, empty and begging for someone to parallel park into it, protecting it from the elements beyond. So I did.

There are 2 main reasons why I loved this spot so much:

1. The duck pond. It sounds retarded, I know, but I really like that pond. It's small, it's different, and it has ducks. What more do you people want? I'll get back to this later.

2. Quick access to my buildings. It's the closest stretch of parking on the south side of campus, which is where my 3 o'clock class is. In fact, that's where all of my classes are. Remember: class time and courtship. These are the things I'm here for, apparently, yet I'll probably leave with very little of both.

Basically, it was shaping up to be a good day.

This is the point where you might expect things to take a drastic turn for the worst. Good weather. Great parking spot. One class. There's no way this could sustain itself all day, right?

WRONG.

Class went without a hitch -- boring as expected, and I didn't do anything stupid from the point I left my car to the point I started back down the stairs to return to it. You want to know what did happen, though? It got better.

Why? Ducks.
That's why.

There was one duck in particular, just a typical white duck with an orange beak. But as he was waddling towards the warm sanctity of the pond, I noticed how he was walking; how all the other ducks were walking. And the first thought that came into my mind was: Hey, that duck is walking pigeon-toed. Which, of course, isn't right. That duck was walking like a duck. That's how ducks walk. So why should we as a society deem that walking like a duck is, in fact, walking like a pigeon? Why limit them to one specific kind of fowl? Why can't we call them duck-toed as well? I, for one, think this is something that is of utmost imporatant as it addresses an incorrect assumption in our society. Most importantly, it does the ducks a disservice and -- dammit -- ducks deserve to have some recognition in this day and age. I'm not going to just stop at this blog though. People must know. And I'll make sure they will.

Now, whenever you hear me saying something about raising awareness, you'll know exactly what I'm talking about.

That, and reducing my carbon footprint.