The Frame Shop that I work in will be going through a big change pretty soon. We have to move out of our current strip mall because it's being torn down for future development. We've known this for years now. But nothing ever happened until recently. Every one of the current tenants has been paying for a month-to-month lease for years. We all have to go.
I'm pretty sad because I work in a village and the village is being split up. The caterer next door brings us soup and cookies and invites us over when they make breakfasts. The hardware store on the other side of us is where Mr. Frame Shop stole The Kid from to come and work for us a couple of years ago. The guys golf together all the time, making bets of Diary Queen from across the street.
And the mailman. Lord, am I gonna miss the mailman! You know, the guy I spend my days doing my utmost to embarrass ever since he told me how mail carriers have to go through harrassment training and have a specific list of things not to say. (God bless the postal system for explaining it in great detail because you know, people who work for the post office generally don't have a firm grasp on the definition of proper social behavior and need to have it literally spelled out for them.)
Today the mailman came in and was telling us that his wife was sick. And that he'd rubbed Vicks on her chest after I'd shared with him how I use Chapstick on my nose when I've got a cold. You could see his mind going over what he'd just said and comparing it to the postal list of things not to say to customers, and "chest" being one of those words.
"I don't know why I said that" he said. "You make me say these things!"
"I do" I replied proudly. And then I told him the story about the little boy who took a picture of his very big poop, with his cellphone; causing the mailman to blush and go running, once again, from the Frame Shop.
Lord how I'm going to miss that mailman!
And cookies from the caterer.
And that discount from the hardware store.
4:39 p.m. - January 18, 2007
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