It Was The Worst Of Times

 

Visalia_Town_Center_Post_Office_circa_1960

In a not too distant future, you will probably find yourself explaining to a trillennial what a post office was, and the whole time while you’re trying to convey a building where mail services happen, the trillennial is actually thinking about the kissing game.

It was the Monday after Thanksgiving. It was not a good day to be waiting in a very long line at the post office. In fact, there is never a good time for waiting. Nonetheless, it was not a proper reason for what ensued.


Sheila Lee Elpaca blurted, “Excuse me.” What she really meant was “For the sake of God’s fuck, move it. Get out of the way you ridiculous assholes, especially you, you miscreant child. Your parents should be executed for creating the likes of you. The snot running freely from your nose is neither cute nor tolerable. It represents everything wrong with the illness your people have plagued our country with.”

Everyone knew exactly what she meant, except for the Pakistani family she assaulted.

In retrospect, always retrospect, she should have worn sunglasses to hide her obvious hate-filled glare, which said, “Why are you not dead yet?”

Unfortunately, there was nothing that could hide her apparent recoiled body language of absolute disgust, as if reacting to a rat with a switchblade with poo on the tip, which said, “I swear, if I had a gun, I would kill you so dead, you wouldn’t believe it, because you’d be dead, and…”

She trailed off. At this point, the 77-year old, Sheila Lee Elpaca, started to lose focus as well as her balance. The man behind her timidly put up his hand in case she fell backwards. She did not.

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