Day 220
My dad gave me a piece of advice this morning:
"Don't drink that glacial spring water."
"Why?"
"Because you know how they say that because it melts from glaciers it's so fresh?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I have a theory about that. Those glaciers are all filled with tons of dinosaur pee. So, when you drink that water you are just drinking dinosaur pee, actually there were so many of those friggin dinosaurs peeing everywhere I am surprised that that water isn't the color of lemonade."
Today was my first day on the job at the Canadian version of a post office. It's funny that when you are in your mid-twenties, a writer, and a taking an 18 year old's job you try to masquerade it with, "I am just doing this to have something to write about." While that is not a false sentiment, it totally disregards the fact that you don't mind taking your 9 bucks an hour to do it. Anyway, I learned a many things my first day on the job the following are a few of them:
The people who collect stamps are scary. Not in a good fun way, but more so in a I-want-to-kill-you-or-help-you-get-out-of-your-house kind of way. There were two stamp fanatics in today. One was a little Asian lady with puffy, bagged eyes. She squinted out from them and looked like a mole that had accidentally emerged into sunlight. She fondled the stamps and asked when the big collection was to come out and insisted on buying two of every design saying, "I am picking some up for my friend." I would've liked to believe her, but I couldn't.
The other collector was an older man who looked like every guy who owns a cornerstore in New York in the movies. He insisted that the way we tear the stamps was damaging them, but constantly told us how accommodating we were to his needs. Later, when I was gossiping with my mother on the phone while waiting for a bus I sort of bitched about the collectors, only to see him standing somewhat nearby. Instantly, I changed my conversation to how I thought stamp collecting was cool. I then walked away and told my mother that he was nearby. I turned around and he too had walked down the sidewalk. Shit, I'm an asshole.
I also learned that sometimes there are men who come in wanting to mail off their tax documents. Sometimes these men can't speak English. Today's man looked at us and asked if his return address was correct like we knew where he lived. Maybe he wanted us to memorize it and visit.
The 20 year old who trained me in told me that on his first day (2 years ago) he was so intimidated by the volume of what you have to know to work at the Post Office that he got a stomachache.
Apparently, there are a couple of African men who send money to places like Ghana. These men come in every week. They noticed me, and greeted me, welcomed me to the Post Office. I like these men. I hope they are just as nice when I accidentally send 30 bucks to Senegal instead of 300 because I pushed the wrong button.
Overall, it was a terrifying experience that made my brain hurt. But hey, looks like I have already used my "research." But, when I got home I learned my most important lesson: the other writers had stormed my facebook wall with comments, they were jealous of my quirky job at the Post Office and thus, I am cool. I guess that's worth 9 bucks an hour.
This afternoon my cellphone rang. I looked at it to recognize the area code. It belongs to a tiny town neighboring my parents' hometown. I didn't answer it, as I was with someone. Five minutes later my phone rang again and displayed the same number. I answered this time, thinking my parent's car had stalled and they needed me to call for help. What I found on the other line was a woman who may be related to me. She is part of a combo pack that visit my parents. She always has to be touching you and rubbing on you and really is more cat than human and her husband looks like Mr. Burns and talks so loudly that you wish you had a hearing problem just so you could turn off you hearing aid when he came around.
Anyway, the cat-like woman asked, "Emily? Do you know where your parents are?" I told her, "Umm, no actually I have no idea where they are seeing as I am in Canada." I told her that if I got in touch with them I'd tell them she had called, and that my parents were probably out having adventures. I also told her that calling my phone was costing her a fortune and that we should probably hang up, and then I hung up. Immediately, I called my mother. She acted surprised that her friend had called me and she said not know that her friends were in town. Two minutes later I got her to confess that her and my father were hiding out as the combo pack had knocked on the door.
Not only did my parents lie to me and were hiding out, they had spent all morning making plans of action. These plans were detailed stories they would tell the combo couple from hell should my parents be seen by them. The plans even extended into how to act if the unwanted visitors got into the house. It had something to do with dividing and conquering. For a few minutes both of my parents took turns trying to convince me that what they were doing wasn't wrong, but then they had to go, as the visitors may return and they planned on not being home should they come back. I am so grateful for the good example my parents continue to put forth for me.
This afternoon my neighbor, myself, and a few others decided to play some frisbee in the courtyard of my building. My other friend came by to play. I was happy to see him out, even though we are just now getting over a falling out and he wouldn't stop touching me yesterday. Anyway, I threw him the frisbee many times. Then, the time that I aimed it perfectly, it caught an updraft and landed on his lip! I smacked him right in the mouth. To make matters worse his wheelchair was all stuck in the mud. We got him inside and put a pack of frozen peas on his lip. I declared that me fetching things and helping out was my best attempt at playing a doctor yet. He said, "And, this is my best performance of playing a helpless invalid." It was at that moment that I realized I cannot stay mad at him.
Yet another thing they do not tell incoming MFA students to a Creative Writing program: your peers will write super kick ass stories and you will have to read them when you are in the thick of a writing funk. But, sometimes, if you don't hate the person who wrote them, you may be inspired to outline a book about your dad. But, if you hate the author going into it, you may just hate them a little more. And then you may think about how in the movies they used to put up pictures of people they didn't like and throw darts at them. Then you will realize that you are thinking about something that you could write about, then you will like the author just a tiny bit, well, you will like them enough not to go out, take a photo of their face, get it blown up, tack it up to your wall and realize that you don't have any darts to throw at it and it looks just like a freaking Jesus photo.
Tip of the Day: Putting your sandals on the wrong feet isn't just for 3 year olds anymore.
-Canadian Castaway
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