Fun with mail.

It wasn't quite a sink-into-the-floor moment, but it came close. Having finally gotten together the fiber swap box that was supposed to go out on Thursday, I headed to the Post Office yesterday with Junior in tow.

"Ready to go bye-bye?"

"Go bye-bye! Bye-bye, Mama!"

"Right. We're going to the Post Office."

"Po Tapa. Go bye-bye Po Tapa."

Kid, sippy, Mama, box, keys. No sweat. There was even a parking space close to the door. I jumped out, ran around to unbuckle Junior's seat, and reached to check how much cash I had on hand.

I ended up groping myself in a futile dance, spinning around to look at my back pocket.

"Hang on, kiddo. Mama forgot her wallet."

"More bye-bye?"

"Yup. Back to the house."

We returned to the Post Office in less than fifteen minutes: kid, sippy, Mama, box, keys, wallet. Inside we found two clerks, no waiting. I approached one and handed her my diaper box full of wool. She inspected it from all sides, and I helpfully supplied, "There's no label."

"Well, yes. A label would be nice."

"Right. I'd like to Junior leave that alone get a label and mail this to Junior don't touch that my friend."

"Zip code?"

"Hang on." I pulled out my phone and consulted the address "book". Click, click, click. "Okay, here it is Junior stop playing with the door or they're gonna think there's a horde out here and yes that's the town so how much to Junior come back here or I'm gonna bite your nose send it?"

A crowd was forming as I addressed the label. Junior inspected his audience, shaking hands with one or two folks.

"If you'd just go ahead and pay me, I can clear the transaction."

"Yes. Sure. Junior let that be."

In my attempt to do everything at once, I had wallet, phone, phone case, cash, pen, and label in hand when the clerk handed me my change. I held on to the wallet, phone case, change, pen, label, and receipt.

CLUNK.

My phone took a dive. Not to the floor, thankfully, but neither did it clatter politely to the counter. Nope. MY phone decided to seek out new life and new civilizations, and boldly went where no phone had gone before.

It bounced off the counter, flipped onto the cash register, slid down the back, and dropped into the half-inch space between the counter back and the wall. There was a moment of silence as a collective mental, "Oh, @#$%!!" went up from every person in the room except Junior.

After an amazing display of contortion techniques and the moving of every piece of equipment at the clerk's station, the phone was retrieved and scolded. The box was posted, Junior said "Tenk oo" and blew kisses, and we fled.

I wonder if we can bring back the Pony Express?