Harder than you’d think

I’ve been getting a lot of packages recently. Mostly because I spent my $500 Groupon voucher (that I won. You can read about that here) on a bunch of different stuff and it has all started arriving. They delivery man usually comes around 8:30 or 9 in the morning. Occasionally he comes later and by that time, I’m not home. Because darn it, I can NOT stay home all day. Not even for one single day. I just can’t do it. Maybe if we lived in a house, with a yard and room to run around, but not while we live in a small 2 bedroom apartment. We all go a little crazy if cooped up too long.

Anyway, I missed the delivery man on Friday and found a slip in the mailbox saying I have a parcel to pick up at the post office. Seems easy enough. Take the slip, wait in line, give it to a postal worker, get my package. Easy.

Fine, it is a bit hard carrying a toddler on my hip, holding Hannah’s hand, and trying to take a package to the car. Not to mention when Hannah’s there, she is always fingering all of the kid-friendly merchandise that litters the sides of the line-up area. You know, those cool looking Dora lunch boxes, the packs of illustrated kids books, the stuffed animals. The list goes on.

Hannah goes to preschool on Mondays, so I took the opportunity to go to the post office a little bit easier, with only one cheeky child. Even though the post office is about a 1 and a half minute drive from my house, the traffic was horrible (yes, I could have walked, but I did my first Pump class at the gym this morning, so I pretty much feel like my legs are going to fall off, AND it was 93 degrees today. Walking was definitely not an option). It was apparently school pick up time, which means school kids all over the sidewalks, and soccer mom vans full of school kids all over the roads.

When we finally got through the traffic light and pulled into the post office, we were met with not even one empty parking space. It would help if the post office had more than 5 parking spaces. Oh, and one of those is a disabled spot.

I had to pull into the do not park/no standing/Australia Post vehicles only part of the parking lot that had lots of bright yellow lines  painted through it just in case you missed the all the signs, just to turn around.

Lucky for me, an older gentleman wandered out of the post office and returned to his vehicle just as I finished turning around. I stopped in the scary yellow lined area and put my blinker on, clearly waiting for his spot. He looked at me in his side view mirror. He knew I was there. He rolled down his window half way. Fair enough, maybe he’s one of those stick-his-head-out-the-window-to-see-better-when-backing-up type people. Or maybe his air conditioner was broken.

But then he started cleaning his window. Not like the part that he needs to see out of. The tiny little part at the very top of the half rolled down window. The part that goes inside the car frame.

“Are you serious guy?” I said to no one, although Daniel was in the car. I should probably curb my road rage outbursts when I have kids in the car.

When he finished cleaning the top of his window, he started cleaning his glasses. Ok, maybe he’s super cautious and needs everything to be just right before backing up. I kept waiting.

Then he started fixing his hair in the rear view mirror. Oh. My. Gosh.

I didn’t want to get in trouble for my illegal parking in the yellow lined area, so I pulled out of the parking lot. I looked for a spot on the side of the road, but there were none available there either.

I did a lap around the block in the horrid school traffic, avoiding all of the high schoolers who illegally cross the road when the red hand is clearly lit up.

I pulled back into the post office parking lot. Old guy was gone, but a different car was in his place. I guess he just didn’t want to give up his spot to me. Jerk. Or maybe he just needed to clean his windows, his glasses, fix his hair, pick his nose, trim his beard and polish his shoes before he could leave the car park.

There were once again no spaces open. Except the disabled spot and I wasn’t about to be so rude as to park in a disabled spot. I’m not disabled. The person who pulled in behind me didn’t seem to feel the same. She parked there, jumped out of her SUV with a bunch of boxes and sauntered all able-bodied into the post office, giving me a “well you didn’t take the spot, so I did” look on her way.

I pulled out a second time, finding a prime parking spot on the side of the road right in front of the post office. I pulled up next to the car in front of the spot and put my blinker on. Just as I was about to reverse park (parallel park) into my perfect parking spot, a car drove up. Right behind me. There was no room for him to go around, and he couldn’t back up. I had to leave the prime spot.

I gave up after that. Hannah needed to be picked up and I needed to turn the oven on to make the kids’ dinner. There was no more time for ’round the block attempts at picking up a package.

I guess I’ll try again tomorrow. With 2 kids and no free hands to carry a package to the car. Sigh.

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Copyright 2012 Sheri Thomson