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April 28, 2006
That’s why they call it “going postal”
This is gonna be a short blog entry, because I have to go pack for my trip to SoCal. The delectable Eileen Rendahl and I are going to be at the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books on Saturday. We’ll be signing at the Borders booth from 4-5 pm and you know we are going to be a two-woman par-tay. If you’ll be in the area, please please please come by and chat. We would love to meet you. Maybe I’ll even give you candy. You never know.
Okay, on to my story. All authors spend a disproportionate amount of time at their local post office, mailing off manuscripts, contest giveaways, advance review copies, etc. When I added up my total expenditures at the USPS for my 2005 taxes, well…let us just say that it was a lot of money. I could have bought a very high-end designer purse for the amount of money I frittered away in stamps. (Although you can’t write off high-end designer handbags, but I digress…)
So anyway, my point is, I pretty much know the drill at the post office. I always have everything packaged, addressed, and ready to go. I know the difference in estimated delivery time between media mail, first-class, and priority without being told, and I try to time my visits for when the line is likely to be shortest (usually between 10 and 11:30 am). And I know all the clerks by name. I never thought they noticed me, though, until today, when a fed-up looking worker glanced at me across the counter and said, “You know, I really appreciate your preparation. You always have everything in order. No dilly-dallying, no horsing around.”
“Thanks,” I said, beaming. “Being an anal-retentive control freak is kind of my trademark.”
“I wish everyone were like you.” She narrowed her eyes. “Do you want to see something?”
I glanced back at the ever-lengthening line behind me. “Um…I guess?”
“Wait here. You have to see this.” She disappeared into the dank bowels of the back room and emerged holding a bulky Tyvek envelope. “Look at this! LOOK!”
I blinked. “It’s…an envelope?”
“That’s right!” Her voice got shrill. “A Priority envelope with an Express address label and first-class postage. What are people THINKING??? What are we supposed to do with this???”
As I scurried out into the sunlight, I could practically hear the metallic shucking of a 12-gauge shotgun. This is how rampages start, people. We’re only one more two-cent stamp hike away from a bloodbath, I can feel it.
Posted by Beth at 2:32 AM | Comments (4)
Comments
High-end purses should so be tax deductable - how else can we carry around our notebooks in a stylish kind of way, LOL?
Posted by: Michelle C at April 28, 2006 10:16 AM
We have one of those do-it-yourself package mailing machines at our main branch post office and in moments of pure desperation, I will actually grab things from people's hands and mail their packages for them.
BTW, am I bringing the candy? Believe it or not, Jolly Ranchers are extremely important in the plot of UN-BRIDALED.
Kisses,
Eileen
Posted by: Eileen ![[TypeKey Profile Page]](http://www.literarychicks.com/nav-commenters.gif)
at April 28, 2006 11:26 AM
I wish you guys were going to be here. *SIGH* I would totally show up with my pile of Eileen and Beth books.
Posted by: laurenjharwood at April 28, 2006 1:17 PM
Oh, pah, what do you meant you can't deduct a handbag? Wouldn't that be considered "research," especially for someone who wrote a book entitled FASHIONABLY LATE?
Whitney, who likes to be creative when doing her taxes
Posted by: Whitney at April 28, 2006 4:02 PM
