Saturday, March 26, 2022
Recipient:
Dan @ USPS Buchtel
Dan was nice. He let me use his Sharpie. He didn't make me wait at
the filling-out-paperwork counter while I finished writing out my shipping
label; he waved me up to the window and helped me figure out the service that
best balanced speed of delivery and price.
Kind? Yes. Award-worthy? Well...maybe not. I had a hard time imagining anyone getting too excited over permanent markers and postal rates.
Anyone but me, that is.
I was on to my next errand when I realized I couldn't find my favorite pen. I emptied my purse, and my tote bag, and looked through every nook and cranny of my car. No luck.
I feel the need to confess that we are not talking about a fancy-schmancy writing implement. It was a bit of swag Mike got from a client -- Pilot G2 gel pen, fine point (07), navy ink. I claimed it for myself when he brought it home and, knowing the likelihood of it escaping my grasp, bought more of the same. Except they weren't the same. The new ones did not write as smoothly as the swag pen. Was it because the swag pen had navy ink and the new pens were blue? Was it actually a custom product made for the client by Pilot? I wasn't sure, so I decided this time I would be extra-extra careful and not take the swag pen out of the house.
HA-HA! Silly idea. When you have a favorite pen, you want to use your favorite pen whenever you get the chance. Besides, it was now my preferred crossword puzzle pen, and I was bringing the Sunday New York Times puzzle from the Denver Post to the post office because God only knows how long of a line there would be on a Saturday just before closing. Now I was across town and the post office was closed and what chance did I have of finding my pen ever again? Maybe this was a lesson in letting go I needed to learn, a cautionary tale against attachment, the cause of needless suffering.
Or not. Five minutes later I was driving back to the post office. Parked in the same spot, walked into and back out of the self-service lobby, looked on the floor, on the ground, in the grass, around the car. No pen.
I was sitting in the car entering an address into Waze on my phone when I saw Dan pushing one of those canvas laundry-type trolleys over to the mailboxes. Hurray!
"Hi! It's Dan, right? This is gonna sound crazy, but by any chance did I leave my pen behind?"
"You sure did. Hang on a minute and I'll get it for you."
He unloaded the mail into the trolley and I followed him into the building, waiting in the self-service lobby while he went through the locked door. He returned a few minutes later with my pen. I thanked him and he went back inside. I was ridiculously happy to have my cheapo gel pen back in hand; this was an award-worthy occasion. He was off sorting mail behind that sturdy door by then, though, so there was nothing to do but leave it behind where he might find it. And that's the kind of letting go I could live with.
Kind? Yes. Award-worthy? Well...maybe not. I had a hard time imagining anyone getting too excited over permanent markers and postal rates.
Anyone but me, that is.
I was on to my next errand when I realized I couldn't find my favorite pen. I emptied my purse, and my tote bag, and looked through every nook and cranny of my car. No luck.
I feel the need to confess that we are not talking about a fancy-schmancy writing implement. It was a bit of swag Mike got from a client -- Pilot G2 gel pen, fine point (07), navy ink. I claimed it for myself when he brought it home and, knowing the likelihood of it escaping my grasp, bought more of the same. Except they weren't the same. The new ones did not write as smoothly as the swag pen. Was it because the swag pen had navy ink and the new pens were blue? Was it actually a custom product made for the client by Pilot? I wasn't sure, so I decided this time I would be extra-extra careful and not take the swag pen out of the house.
HA-HA! Silly idea. When you have a favorite pen, you want to use your favorite pen whenever you get the chance. Besides, it was now my preferred crossword puzzle pen, and I was bringing the Sunday New York Times puzzle from the Denver Post to the post office because God only knows how long of a line there would be on a Saturday just before closing. Now I was across town and the post office was closed and what chance did I have of finding my pen ever again? Maybe this was a lesson in letting go I needed to learn, a cautionary tale against attachment, the cause of needless suffering.
Or not. Five minutes later I was driving back to the post office. Parked in the same spot, walked into and back out of the self-service lobby, looked on the floor, on the ground, in the grass, around the car. No pen.
I was sitting in the car entering an address into Waze on my phone when I saw Dan pushing one of those canvas laundry-type trolleys over to the mailboxes. Hurray!
"Hi! It's Dan, right? This is gonna sound crazy, but by any chance did I leave my pen behind?"
"You sure did. Hang on a minute and I'll get it for you."
He unloaded the mail into the trolley and I followed him into the building, waiting in the self-service lobby while he went through the locked door. He returned a few minutes later with my pen. I thanked him and he went back inside. I was ridiculously happy to have my cheapo gel pen back in hand; this was an award-worthy occasion. He was off sorting mail behind that sturdy door by then, though, so there was nothing to do but leave it behind where he might find it. And that's the kind of letting go I could live with.
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