o I moved back to Los Angeles. We're living in Alhambra right now, on our way to Pasadena. A funny thing happened...S
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f course we're checking out the real estate and are getting listed with a bunch of agents. But in the meanwhile we're chilling out at Mom's house. I'm sitting on the porch one morning and a woman in her mid 40s drives up in a late model Honda. She is intently looking at a piece of paper. She asks for Moms by name. It turns out that the post office delivered two of our boxes of goods to the same address but on the wrong street around the corner. They were too heavy for this woman to lift.M
oms says - call UPS, it's their job to deliver it properly. Brother (a manager at FedEx) sneers - it would take two days to get a response, much less the boxes. I'm halfway to my new minivan ready to go around the corner. I pile in Chris and Courtney so they can ride too. I get there and Hubby is working the garden. As I pull the van up into the driveway, I get the ten thousand mile stare. Wifey explains why I'm there. She wants me to sign a note for the boxes anyway. Sure why not... 'acknowledge receipt of boxes from wrong address'.. signed (me). An astute observer will note the striking similarity between the handwriting on the note and on the boxes themselves. They don't look. Chris jumps out of the van. Didn't I TELL you to sit down? Now get back in your SEAT. Numbskull child. So I turn back to finish signing. Yes I'm from Atlanta. What part? Marietta in the northwest side. Your daughter is from where? Oh yeah Decatur. That's nice too. (no it's not) Scream. Chris has jumped out the van again, but not without slamming his hard head on the corner of the door. See what happens when you don't listen? More screams. Now get back in your seat. The screaming continues. Wifey has, within 4 seconds, produced an Oh Henry and a Reese's peanut butter cup. Oh brother here we go. My children are not allowed to eat candy. She insists, and starts to walk past me. I take them from her and I give him one anyway. And of course Courtney has to get one too. Screaming immediately ceases. I get the first box. I'm going back for the next one. More screams. Courtney can't open the wrapper on the Oh Henry. Why am I taking so much time to get these damn boxes anyway? Jesus - get me outta here. Here Courtney - here's your candy bar. Bye. Thanks, see ya. I get home. "Why you nigga not take care of baby? - we Asian have to feed you all time?" I'm trying to get Sister to laugh. She does - it feels good. I continue. "You sure this your box? - don't come stealing mail - somebody pay 32 dolla stamp to ship box. Here sign paper. Sign! You have no pen? Here. Give pen back." Everybody is rollin' (I do a damn good Chink, as good as on the Fugees album). "Actually we just jealous - we don't grow big enough to move boxes. Can't work for UPS". OK now I feel better. But I wonder where the rest of my boxes are. Damn post office.