Shhhh
I am, by nature, a fairly quiet person, in both voice and actions (meaning that I could easily sneak up on you and kill you if I wanted to...just sayin'). Former co-workers of mine have always told me that they didn't know I could talk for several weeks when I'd first start a new job. I can go for days without using my voice — and have before. I even got through a day of high school without speaking once, just to see if I could.
[I've wondered what solitary confinement in prison — usually reserved as a last resort punishment — would be like for me. Would I actually enjoy the solitude? (Probably if I had a drooling rapist for a cellmate, I guess.)]
Anyway, when Connor naps, if I have my way, the only thing that will wake him up is his own internal clock. We have a white noise generator in his room to mask any noise that I might make in my daily routine of pretending to clean up around the house while I instead look at vintage guitars on the Internet. But, the past three days in a row, he's been woken up by forces outside my control...our unnaturally loud mail carrier.
We have a driveway that's probably about 50 feet long, and Mail Lady Doris refuses to leave her vehicle to walk down the driveway (even though every other delivery person to ever visit the house has done so) to deliver a package too large for the mailbox. That much, I don't really mind, except for when we have our gate latched. Then, she won't even bother, even though, once again, every other delivery person we get will unlatch the gate and walk up to the door. That's the U.S. gub'mint for you, I guess. Despite operating on federal funds (in addition to the money it earns from day-to-day business) the Post Office just can't figure out how to turn a profit, despite being in the same business — package delivery — as many highly profitable services of the same nature. Get a UPS delivery person and a U.S. Postal Service mail carrier to stand side-by-side and tell me which one looks more professional. Might be a clue there.
But I digress. Back to our lovely mail carrier. It's not that she drives down our driveway that annoys me, it's that she blares her horn as she's coming down, even though no signature has ever been required on any package she's ever left. Yesterday, I had the priv'lege of meeting her. I swear she was talking through a bullhorn, though it must have been invisible, because all I could see was her mouth — or her Uvula, since her mouth was open large enough to digest a basketball.
"HARE'S YOUR MA-YULLL!!! IT'S NASE TO MEET YA!!!!"
If Connor managed to sleep through the horn blowing, his chances of not waking up from this woman's megavoice were null and void. Had I stood at the foot of his bed and sounded an airhorn for 20 seconds, it would have made less noise than this woman's vocal chords.
I had planned to ask her nicely if she would mind not blowing her horn outside the house since I have a teeny baby sleeping inside, but after hearing her voice, I figured the horn was the least of the problem. How do you ask someone — nicely — to shut the hell up?
[I've wondered what solitary confinement in prison — usually reserved as a last resort punishment — would be like for me. Would I actually enjoy the solitude? (Probably if I had a drooling rapist for a cellmate, I guess.)]
Anyway, when Connor naps, if I have my way, the only thing that will wake him up is his own internal clock. We have a white noise generator in his room to mask any noise that I might make in my daily routine of pretending to clean up around the house while I instead look at vintage guitars on the Internet. But, the past three days in a row, he's been woken up by forces outside my control...our unnaturally loud mail carrier.
We have a driveway that's probably about 50 feet long, and Mail Lady Doris refuses to leave her vehicle to walk down the driveway (even though every other delivery person to ever visit the house has done so) to deliver a package too large for the mailbox. That much, I don't really mind, except for when we have our gate latched. Then, she won't even bother, even though, once again, every other delivery person we get will unlatch the gate and walk up to the door. That's the U.S. gub'mint for you, I guess. Despite operating on federal funds (in addition to the money it earns from day-to-day business) the Post Office just can't figure out how to turn a profit, despite being in the same business — package delivery — as many highly profitable services of the same nature. Get a UPS delivery person and a U.S. Postal Service mail carrier to stand side-by-side and tell me which one looks more professional. Might be a clue there.
But I digress. Back to our lovely mail carrier. It's not that she drives down our driveway that annoys me, it's that she blares her horn as she's coming down, even though no signature has ever been required on any package she's ever left. Yesterday, I had the priv'lege of meeting her. I swear she was talking through a bullhorn, though it must have been invisible, because all I could see was her mouth — or her Uvula, since her mouth was open large enough to digest a basketball.
"HARE'S YOUR MA-YULLL!!! IT'S NASE TO MEET YA!!!!"
If Connor managed to sleep through the horn blowing, his chances of not waking up from this woman's megavoice were null and void. Had I stood at the foot of his bed and sounded an airhorn for 20 seconds, it would have made less noise than this woman's vocal chords.
I had planned to ask her nicely if she would mind not blowing her horn outside the house since I have a teeny baby sleeping inside, but after hearing her voice, I figured the horn was the least of the problem. How do you ask someone — nicely — to shut the hell up?
posted by Carter at 7:37 PM
3 Comments:
What are you talking about Carter? You were the king of politly asking people to shut up..."Would you PLEASE shut the #@%$ up...I said PLEASE!"
Ah, good times at the Wrek Room.
With this title..you were so kind not to follow it with any # of stories about "our family". I found myself happy you picked on the mail lady.
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