I went to the post office today. Going to the post office out here is very different than where I used to live. In Boulder, I lived a block away and there was a never a line. Everyone who worked there knew me by name. Also, there were about four staff members there at any given point. Going to the post office here is entirely different. I have to drive to it first of all, which is awful. People in San Francisco are really bad a locomotion in any shape or form. Walking, driving, biking. No one seems to look at the direction they’re headed. Driving is especially bad because people will just park their cars in the middle of a lane and turn their hazard lights on because ???. So anyway, I have to drive to the post office to pick up a package from my mom. There’s no parking at the post office so I park in a superconglomerate parking lot chimera across the street that serves a Safeway, a Petsco, a Blockbuster AND a Sally Beauty Supply (believe or not, 1998 is still living strong). This parking lot has a bunch of dudes in it that watch what store you go into to make sure you are parking for the right reasons (how do you get this job?!). In order to throw them off of my scent (the scent of parking in a place that doesn’t include the post office) I go into Petco. Look at some rats and guinea pigs. I’m looking at the rats and remember my pet rat Fenris from a few years ago. He died of a respiratory failure common in domestic rats (probably regular rats too). When he was alive, he liked to sit on my chest while I was reading. He’d just sit there with his huge balls resting on like, my nipple or something. Anyway, while looking at these rats I vowed that if ever again I were to own a rat as a pet, it would have to be a female because no way do I want to deal with urine soaked balls dragging across my body again. So after 15 minutes or so, thinking about balls, I leave Petsco and head to the Post Office. There’s one person working in there. There’s another person who has seemed to, at least when I got there, held up the line. Some curly haired, going grey late thirties dude asking about when his package will arrive. He was very unsure about the delivery he was about to entrust to the US government. Twenty minutes more of this and the people ahead of me who had already been there for who knows how long had already started conspiring against this man. These people were complete strangers before they decided to hate the dude holding up the line at the Post Office. They will be strangers tomorrow, too. But oh how they hated him. They even commiserated over speculation about how he must have not done enough research about sending packages through the US Postal Service before he got there. There was a point to this rambling post but I’ve lost it now. I think it had something to do with patience.