Irony Delivered by the German Postal Service
While I was out fetching one package from the post office (because the mailman apparently wouldn’t leave it with one of my neighbors like they used to do the last few times), presumably at the precise moment the clerk gave me the package, another (or the same?) mailman tried to deliver season 4 of Gilmore Girls and I fucking wasn’t there. This is most likely the fastest any overseas and custom fee worthy package has ever made it here and I’m not here.
Couldn’t they just hang around a little and wait for me to come home? Or, like, call me on my cell and tell me to hurry up? Because I would’ve.
But they would not. So when I got home, happily clinging to the package I finally got, I found another orange card telling me to pick up a package, but not before 3 pm next Monday. That’s 52 hours from now. Are they kidding me?
Come back, package delivery guy, come back! I’m here now. I promise. I even got the money for the customs fee, which – getting back to the irony of the whole thing – I wouldn’t have had had I not gone out this morning to fetch my package and buy coconut milk at the Asian shop. So, one way or the other, I wouldn’t have gotten those lovely DVDs until Monday anyway.
I hate the customs.
And irony. Unless I use it myself, then it’s fun.