Grab a drink (preferably a stiff one) and settle in. This is going to take a while.
Stress. Some days I think my picture belongs next to the definition in the dictionary (I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels this way). To cap off the stressful day, I went to the main branch of the post office in Portland to mail my scrap sterling and PMC silver to Rio Grande. I've been collecting these bits and bobs for about 6 or 7 years now. I had 6.1 ounces (5.55989 oz troy), not a small amount of money to cash in so it was worth the trip. Sort of.
I locked my car. I know that I locked my car because I double clicked the button on my key fob. How do I know I did this? I always do it, it drives Hazel nuts. I always make him double click it to set the alarm when we get out of the car. I know I did it because I heard beep and saw the lights flash.
I walked across the parking lot, entered the lobby, selected the mailing envelope (6x10 padded) and a roll of packing tape. I set my pocketbook and keys on the counter, filled out the envelope, inserted the baggie of silver along with the form from Rio into the envelope and sealed it. Then I waited in line for the counter.
I paid for the envelope, tape, postage and insurance, stopped at another counter to clip everything together and put it into a pocket in said pocketbook. Then I walked out to my car. When I got to my car I needed my keys, so I reached into my pocketbook. Now, the pocketbook is a mess, but I can reach in and get my keys when I need them. I purposely do not carry a really large pocketbook, for just this reason. It's a small to medium size bag. The keys were not there. Dummy. I walked back into the lobby; no keys on either counter so I looked in the recycle bin where I deposited a pull tab, nothing.
Back through the lobby, scanning everywhere (even the recycle trash again), out through the parking lot (scanning again) to the car. Nope, zilch. Dummy. Back to the post office lobby. I wait in a long line to speak with the clerk who helped me again. (I'm sure by this point whoever reviews the security camera footage is wondering what the hell cell I'm attached to) I now ask the clerk who helped me if he can retrieve the package I'm mailing to New Mexico. He finds it and gives it to me. Nope, I don't feel keys in the package. I ask if I'll have to pay for new postage if I open the envelope to make sure. Nope, just tape it back up. I open the package, no keys. I move off to the side to tape the envelope up like it was Fort Knox, wait in line for the clerk and then ask him to as his co-worker if anyone turned keys in. Nada. Dummy.
Back to the car I go, scanning (and now cursing roundly) the lobby, floor and parking lot. Nothing. I sit on the metal barricade, sigh and call Hazel. TWICE!! He didn't answer his phone, so I call Caitlin to have her tell her dad to answer the DAMN PHONE! I explain my situation, "Did you look in your pocketbook?".........."Did you check your pockets?".......... (a line of dots is me tapping my foot and glaring). He is instructed to bring me a key.
Hazel and Hazel Jr. bring the car key and feel the need to inspect in and around the car for my keys. THEY'RE NOT THERE, hence the phone call for help! They then feel the need to back-track the parking lot and look through the post office lobby (I expect a visit from the FBI, CIA or Secret Service tomorrow); THEY'RE NOT THERE!!!!! "I think someone took your keys." YA' THINK?!? Back out to the car we go. I attempted to call the post office to leave my name and number in case a good samaritan decides to turn my keys in (right). Do you know how hard it is to get a phone number to your local post office?? Extremely. Then, when you do get the number (and you're told it's staffed 'til 7 so someone should answer) and no one answers, how frustrating it is? Well, let's say LOTS.
I am now convinced that someone is going to waltz into our home and steal all of our valuables, not that there are that many, but there are a good number TV's and computers here. My family thinks I'm a lunatic; well, they know I'm a lunatic but that doesn't matter. So, when I get home at 7:00 after this debacle and have added a pile of stress to an already stressful day, it's not really a pretty sight. Matty (Hazel Jr.) comments that I should go to his friend Nick's sunflower field with my camera and take pictures to relieve my stress. THAT is EXACTLY what I had wanted to do with my late afternoon/early evening before post office aerobics was in session. He even took pity on me and put his dinner aside, drove me out there in his truck and patiently waited while I took pictures (you have no idea how out of character this is). Thank you Matty for knowing exactly what mom needed today and obliging me. I love you.
P.S.- And fertheluvapete, if you took my stinkin' key fob from the Portland post office today, return the dang thing to them and tell them you found them on the ground in the parking lot!! Thank you.