hammer and nails

Posted: December 27, 2010 in otiose
Tags: , , , ,

Somebody knocked down my mailbox when it snowed.
I think I already mentioned this, but in case I didn’t, that is the context of this story.
Somebody knocked down my mailbox when it snowed.
I tinkered with the pieces for a while yesterday and gave up, got side tracked, or fell asleep on the kitchen floor.
I’m not sure what happened, but the point is that I didn’t put the pieces back together.
Rather, I left them strewn about the porch.

Today, I locked my housemate out of the house, and she called me where I work, and…that is a different story.
Needless to say, I was not happy.

She asked me what happened to the mailbox.
I proceeded to go about tinkering with the pieces again and her muskrat type male companion asked me if I wanted him to fix it for me.
He looks like that guy in the first Matrix movie. Not that dipshit from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventures, but that muskratty looking…Joe. Joe Pantoliano.
Joe Pantoliano asked me if I wanted him to fix the mailbox for me after I’d already taken it all apart and ascertained that I needed two new six inch nails.
He asked me twice.

The second time, I was not polite.
What are you going to do, Joe? Stick it back up with a wad of bubble gum? I already had all the tools out.
My tools.
I clearly know what I’m doing.
This isn’t particularly difficult work. It’s just annoying.
Why don’t you run along and play house somewhere where you actually…pay rent or something?

I went up the road to my local Lowes and found two galvanized six inch nails for .16 a piece. I went to a line wondering if it would be a problem with Sir Douchey McDoucherton hunched over his register.

It was a problem.

He insisted that my nails were not in the system for the price I told him they were. I offered to go get the item number for him, and he continued scanning random barcodes out of his little book. The old man in line behind me started condescending to Sir Douchey, and I found myself amused to smirks and giggles.

To save himself some face, he took this out on me, “What do you want to do, lady?” He dripped with disdain. I’d told him about five minutes ago that I’d like to go get the item number for him, but instead he kept us all waiting.

I toddled off and committed the long string of numbers to the mush in my head. When I walked back up to his line less than a minute later, he looked at me like I was retarded. I looked at him like he was a lazy worthless Master Doucher from Hairybottom Long Island, and rattled off the number for him. He punched it in wrong. I slowed it down for him.

Low and behold, Lowes sells the nails I picked up at Lowes for the amount advertised by Lowes with a call number that’s in the Lowes computer system.

Weird. I never would have guessed.

I pounded them through two pieces of half rotten wood and screwed my mailbox back to its post in the dark. A fat old neighbor man across the street came out to watch me do this in a teeshirt, in the dark, and in the snow. Did you enjoy the show?

I might be a girl. Yes, I might wear a bright pink coat and talk with an odd accent, but I can handle nailing two pieces of wood together and screwing a metal box on top. Promise.

What do you think was the last productive thing McDouchey did? Or…the Muskrat for that matter? Please, boys. It’s not that goddamned odd for someone to put their mailbox back up after some asshole runs it down in the snow.

My mailman is a big black woman that hardly fits into her truck. I hope she understands. I hope she leaves me mail tomorrow. I hope it isn’t all bills and stupid student loan letters about misapplied funds from Wells Fargo…but even if it is…I’d like to get my mail in the box I put back up.

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