Yesterday my little brother and I stood in line at the post office to mail a package. I dropped my head on the counter and drug it along as the line moved. The post man says from across the room, "No sleeping in line!" with a flirtatious smile.
Today I went back to the post office with another package. I happened to end up at the sleep-officer's counter again. This pretty much sums up our conversation:
Postman: Who's that? (pointing to the picture I taped to the outside of the box).
Kristen: I don't know.
You don't know him?
I found him the newspaper. He has a mullet.
I can see that. So who is this package going to?
My brother.
Does he like mullets?
Of course. Nothing says 'I love you' like a mullet.
Oh. I should grow my hair out, then.
...
Kristen: I didn't fall asleep in line today.
Oh, so that WAS you yesterday. Was that your boyfriend you were with?
No. That was my little brother. Don't make me throw up.
Sorry. You look the same age. So...how old are you?
How old do you think I am?
20.
I'm almost 22.
You're young.
Yes.
....
Postman: Most people in line just glare at me.
Kristen: Because they're pissed at you. You're the man.
Thank you.
(I wanted to tell him I meant it in a School-of-Rock-Stick-It-to-the-Man kind of way, but that would've shattered his confidence).
Postman: What are you going to do after this? Go home? Take a nap?
Kristen: Um.....we'll see....
Derek wants to go back and see him tomorrow. I bet we can find something else to mail, it might be worth it for another weird conversation.
ALSO- I'll give cookies to anyone else who can get their postman to ask, "So what are you doing after this?" That's got to be a record of some kind.
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