One shipped from Philadelphia, only a few miles down the turnpike, and the other is coming from New York. So, you see, neither is originating in Singapore or the Australian outback, or anyplace like that.
And it’s really starting to agitate me. I know it’s only been ten days, but the shipping notifications cause the problem. I could understand someone taking a little too long to get a book packaged and mailed. Not a big deal. But after they go to the trouble of sending a shipping confirmation…
On March 18 I started anticipating the deliveries, and every day since then I’ve been disappointed. The last couple of days I began edging past disappointment, toward anger.
Media Mail is the culprit, I’m convinced. As far as I know, it’s the cheapest service the post office offers. It’s for printed materials and sound recordings, or somesuch, and is as slow as a Wisconsin dump.
Seriously. How could a package take a week and a half to get from Philadelphia to Scranton? A four year old on a Big Wheel could’ve delivered it by now.
I’d be very interested to know how Media Mail is processed. Clearly it’s the lowest of low priorities, and the parcels are likely used as step stools and traction-aids for mail trucks stuck in the mud. I’m picturing my book wedged up underneath the leg of a table right now, to stop it from rocking.
Or maybe they have a team of psychics and spoon-benders, who will the stuff to be delivered?
Yeah, I might be getting a little carried away. But where are my freaking books? Ten days with the US Postal Service is too long. At least five days too long.
And yes, I know. Some people have serious problems. And if this is all I have to worry about, I’m doing pretty well. I get it, Mr. Well-Adjusted Centered Zen Adult.
But I still want my fucking books!
Yesterday morning Toney called and told me our oldest boy had been hurt at school. She didn’t have all the details, but the nurse said he’s been poked in the eye “while roughhousing.”
She thought his eye should be looked-at by a doctor, ’cause it was a pretty serious jab. So Toney called the eye doc, and they said they could see him at 1:30. In the meantime she wanted me to pick him up, and bring him home.
So, I returned to the middle school (it sometimes feels like I live at that place), and collected the oldest Secret. And he said he’d been sitting in homeroom, when some idiot zit-spangled obese nerd-boy comes running up, yells “I’M A NINJA!” and pokes him in the eye.
WTF? What kind of ninja announces himself via hollering? And then starts poking eyeballs like Moe? Worst ninja ever…
Everything checked out, though; his eye is fine. It cost us a twenty-five dollar co-pay, not to mention the unnecessary pain, etc. And I have a small issue with the vice principal that I probably shouldn’t get into…
But the episode is over (for the most part), and the injury was nothing serious. Which is a relief… I had, um, visions of a detached retina, or something that might require surgery. So, it had a happy ending.
It got me to thinking, though, about people who were seriously injured during my checkered and highly-questionable public school career. And briefly, these are the events that jumped immediately to mind:
In Junior High some kid was jumping on the trampoline in gym class, landed chin-first, and bit a big hunk of his tongue off. He went sprinting outside, with blood pouring out of his mouth like Gene Simmons. It was fantastic!
Also during Junior High gym we were forced to wrestle by some “coach” who probably enjoyed watching 14 year old boys sweat and roll around and grab each others’ asses.
Anyway, some kid named Mike broke his arm during one of those homoerotic displays. There was a loud SNAP! like a tree limb breaking, and he stood up with a horrified look on his face and one extra elbow. His right arm was bent at the middle, then again between elbow and wrist.
Shit! It still gives me the heebie-jeebies, even now.
Another Junior High casualty was a kid name Craig, who got shoved into a bush of bees. We were outside playing touch football, or something equally horrible, when one of our classmates thought it would be funny to body-check Craig into buzzing, pulsating foliage.
Yeah, Junior High sucked on so many levels… But especially for guys like Craig. He also got shoved down once while using a urinal, his wiener retracted, and he peed straight down the right leg of his jeans. Heh.
And in High School (or was it the Junior High again?) some kids were jumping off the top of the bleachers, onto big pieces of foam. They were like giant loaves of bread, and they’d shoved a bunch of them together and were jumping on them.
Unfortunately, however, one kid landed between two of the loaves, tailbone-first. And when he hit the floor (THUD!) he started jerking and convulsing. Scary stuff, but somehow he wasn’t seriously hurt. He was back to doing stupid shit within days.
And now it’s your turn. Please use the comments link below to tell us about People Getting Hurt at School. Do you have any stories to tell on that subject? We’d love to hear (read) ’em!
Also, the Surf Report was discussed at length in a recent podcast, titled Viva LaZimmer. You can check it out here (episode 2). They even read an excerpt from the Rocky Stories. Very cool. Thanks guys, I enjoyed it!
And that’s all for now. Until next time…
Have a great day, my friends.