..standing in the Post line, staring at the greeting cards. Did they believe it would save the bureaucracy? I thought that first. I held a yellow card for my parcel.
"Life is too short not to be yourself." Really? Did that card actually put that out there? The generic, safe cards with photos of kooky animals. It probably took the person designing it all of 5 minutes to dream up these doozies. I hate to think they were pleased as punch when they saw that they layered the text: when they jiggered the fonts. They added color so it could 'pop'. Then they did it about four dozen times.
One had a llama with the funniest expression. There was a cat, stretched awkwardly upward in obvious reach of its toy, the tag read something about a high five. There was a meerkat in a blurred pose. In its paws were crystal clear yellow irises; they couldn't look more mismatched. I question their photoshopping skills. Could they not get the shading to match, in the least? [What is taking this lady at the counter so long to decide if she needs to spend $225 to track this package? You know you wont spend that much to make sure the comforter gets to Poland.]
The woman two clerks down always scowls at me. She knows I know her. This job is killing her: its safe. She plays it safe. Her light skin and Eastern Bloc features belie, through a forced smile, that she's hoping something will change. They made them remove their pictures because of new countertops. She only ever had an old photo of her and her sister. They must commiserate constantly.
I get my parcel. The day goes on. I wonder later in the day why that insipid phrase resonates with me...
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