OH GAWD

Just this morning I was talking to Milo Minderbinder about how I had nothing to blog about. And then I went and created adventure for myself.

I had to mail my cheque to The Economist, and oddly enough, I've never actually mailed anything in the US before. So I trundled off to the post office, and spent a long time choosing my stamps (I chose the 'Stop Family Violence' stamp, the other two were some Victorian wagon thing (??!) and the American flag).

And then, distracted as I was by the stamp selection process, I popped the cheque in the envelope and dropped it in the mailbox BUT FORGOT TO WRITE THE ADDRESS OR STICK A STAMP. Of course, just like in the movies, I realised what I'd done as I watched the envelope disappear in slow motion into the cavernous black hole called the USPS.

I glared at the box. I bit my lip and racked my brains. I banged the palm of my hand repeatedly against my forehead. But nothing made the envelope come back. Normally, if it wasn't a cheque, I would have just ignored it. But of course, if it wasn't a cheque, I would have got it right in the first place.

So it was a very mortified me that found herself in the main post office queue inside, waiting for the Superintendent.
"Excuse-me-I'm-terribly-sorry-but-I-dropped-an-envelope-in-the-post-box-but-forgot-to-put-the-stamp." I raced through it in my embarrassment.
"Sorry?"
"I-dropped-an-envelope-in-the-post-box-but-forgot-to-put-the-stamp."

Pause.

"Well I never heard that before!"
"Please. Can we get it out? I wouldn't normally ask, except - there's a cheque in there."

Sigh.

"This is going to take a few minutes, I'm afraid," the Super told the woman in the queue behind me. I turned around to apologise to her, but she was glaring so crossly that I quickly turned back round again.

"Okay," he turned to me. "What is the addressee name on the envelope?"
"I forgot to put that," I said softly. I put on my Sheepish Face.
He gaped at me. "Okay what's the 'return to sender' name?"
"I forgot to put that too," I admitted, so softly I was surprised he heard me. Or maybe by then he just guessed.

Pause.

"So there's a blank envelope in the post box with no address and no stamp."
I nodded miserably.
A series of expressions fought to take control of his face, I could see a visible battle between irritation and amusement. Finally, it settled for a disgruntled kind of amusement.

"Well, I suppose a man's gotta have his fun at work somehow," he grumbled. He nodded towards a sofa in the corner. "Wait there and I'll be back in ten minutes" (We both pretended we didn't hear the woman behind me cluck in irritation).

And ten minutes later my knight in shining armour was back, I stamped and addressed the envelope, and sent it skipping along on its way to the Economist offices in MA. The Super turned to the (ever-growing) queue of customers in the post-office. "Sorry about the delay," he announced, "This young lady dropped an envelope in the postbox without envelope or stamp, and I could still find it for her."

I think he was kind of proud.

But oh gawd, oh gawd, oh gawd, I wanted to disappear.