“We couldn’t,” I say bitterly, “even have real food at our recent big art show down the mountain in that really nice place. Last year we had a huge spread of home made food there and everyone came for the food. Not the art. The food!
“This year, every last bite we laid out had to be commercially bought and sealed in plastic. Crackers in plastic, peanuts in little plastic packets, bottled colas. No more homemade lemon aide with fresh lemon slices and real ice tea…no more home made main dishes or desserts. It was a disaster. People hated it. I never want to go to another plastic art show.”
“It’s totally awful,” she says, “pretty soon we’ll have to ask permission to use toilet paper on our butts.”
I’m thinking, “Geez. I need to go up town and see the sights. Just get away from being so mad about all the increasingly intrusive rules we are all expected to live by.”
Walking into the post office I get in the long line that’s waiting to be served. I love the post office but here they are, having to fire lots of workers and maybe not being able to survive.
I think the post office is the very best for moving mail quickly and with the least expense. But, who cares what I think, right?
I’m just hanging, waiting for my turn to (eventually) come up to the counter when suddenly I realize there is a huge big man in line causing a commotion. He’s yelling at the man next to him and at the whole post office. (more…)