"Jesus told the crowd to sit down on the ground. Then he took the seven loaves and the fish. They all ate and were satisfied. The number of those who ate was four thousand. After Jesus had sent the crowd away, he got into the boat and went to the vicinity of Magadan."
I was in line behind a slow and gentle lemur of a man in a Utilikilt at the post office yesterday. He was mailing ninety packages, to what must have been secret far away communist countries, because he filled out form after form after specialized form. Everyone loves a good quality kilt/Berkenstock combo, we can admit that. The open kilt flow allows your legs and junk to feel the breeze (so I’ve heard). But this guy was possibly the slowest human being of all time. Each action and movement he made was drawn out and microscopically deliberate. He functioned in a slow motion realm, while the world around him functioned at normal speed. On each form he filled out, he inscribed THE MOTHERFUCKING DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. The line increasingly grew agitated and flustered. The stickers on his cart said - Remember when air was clean and sex was dirty? And If God had meant us to be nude, we’d have been born that way. And Reading is sexy. I took out my phone, put it on speaker, and played Survivor’s “Eye of the Tiger.” No one noticed.
We were in line so long, a woman gave birth. The child grew before us, suckling. It grew into a fully formed adult named Byron. Byron was extremely pissed that the only life he ever knew was a post office line life. Byron grew elderly and feeble, and sadly began to fade. Meanwhile, Utilikilt Man just kept pulling out packages from his hippie cart. From nowhere. It was like the Miracle of the Seven Loaves and Fishes from the Gospels of Mark and Matthew, where Jesus fed five thousand people with just seven loaves of bread and a few small fish. I played “Eye of the Tiger” 112 times. Finally a guy behind me said, “This is ridiculous. Dude, what are you doing? You need your own post office. You can't mail that many packages.” But Utilikilt Man did not respond. He existed only in his communist, molasses, lemur realm of Utililikitia. In that realm, nothing happens, except the protracted mailing of packages. Junk there, begets breezes.
Dear United States Post Office, when it’s the busiest time of day, why do you only staff one person to work the godamn counter? You know when the busy times of the day are. Please plan your staffing better, so that the children birthed in your lines can know a life outside your confines.