We're a Blended Family

I have a beef with the Lexington Park post office. First of all, they're slow. They're also pretty rude. But I guess that's kind of to be expected.

More specifically, the one woman who works there may very well be some sort of android. My buddy Mike's favorite instance was when he was waiting in line once- Android lady talks really funny, and it's hard to convey in print, but she kind of says things like "Neeext, pleeeease!" always in the same tone. The guy in front of Mike walked away without his keys or something, and to call him back the lady said "Returrrn, pleeease!" Maybe you had to be there.

Plus, the post office is always absolutely packed. They finally implemented one of those take-a-number things to calm the unruly mob, so one time I went in and took a number- it was 31, and the little number display was on 29. I waited, and the lady looks up and yells out "Twenty-niiiiine!" and some dude walks up. When she's done with him, she again looks at the display (which hasn't changed), then yells "Twenty-niiiiine!" and another guy walks up. Again, she finishes up with him, and yells "Twenty-niiiiine!" I watch in irritated fascination as the cycle repeats itself, and it's pretty clear that the lady has no idea that she has just called for customer 29 four consecutive times, helping someone different each time. Since I've had enough, I yell out "Excuse me, are we using the numbers or not?" Everyone kind of stops in their tracks, including the guy who was on his way up, looking like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Robo-teller gives me a blank stare, looks up at the display, and announces "Twenty-niiiiine!" in the same matter she always has. She takes a half-interested glance around the room for a few seconds too long before hitting a button to change the number, then yells "Thirrrty!" Again, no one moves until she says "Thirrrty-one!" and I walk up with my little number tag. There are two things that amaze me about this encounter: First, the lady called out 29 at least 4 times, never realizing that she had already called that number. Who knows how long this had been going on before I got there. Second, what the hell were the customers doing? There was no discernible line, so every time the lady said 29, someone who knew full well that they weren't number 29 sauntered up, and apparently that was okay with everyone. No one thought to question her, they just figured "Next time she calls 29, I'm going up there."

Also, the mail gets stuck in some sort of time/space vortex between here and the rest of the world, which means that by the time my Sports Illustrated shows up on Friday afternoon, it's all old news. When a relative sends Christmas cards to my brother, sister and I, I always get mine last by at least a few days. When Kate was in Florida I sent her a care package, and it made the trek from Lexington Park to Pensacola in a scant 20 days. Needless to say, the muffins I baked her were no good. Or in the most recent case, I received Senator Roy Dyson's campaign flyer in the mail on Thursday, November 16, asking me for my vote on Tuesday, November 7.

At some point, my house was occupied by Ronald and Ida Jolley. I know this, because I get their mail all the time. That lead to the best part about the Roy Dyson add- it was addressed to:
It's as though the county sat down and thought "Wait a minute, Ron and Ida Jolley used to get mail at this address, but it's been this Burgess guy for the last three years. Well, there's no need to check any of the hundreds of county records at our disposal, I've got this figured out: They must be living together now!" Oy.