Synchronicity!
I live about 1/2 mile from the local Post Office, yet I have to have a P.O. Box. I don’t want a P.O. Box, it causes me all sorts of problems. For example. the DMV will not mail a license renewal to a P.O. Box, only to a physical address. Unfortunately, my house does not exist in the eyes of the U.S. Postal Service. When I inquired why I couldn’t get my mail delivered to my house, like everyone else in the developed world, they told me that they don’t deliver to my street because the mail truck would need to turn around. Yes, the reason they don’t deliver to me is because they don’t want to turn a damn truck around. They’ll deliver in sleet, snow, wind, and rain, but I guess that turning a vehicle in a semi-circle is just asking too much of them.
Anyway, I try to get my mail everyday. This doesn’t always happen, as the Post Office closes at 5:00PM and most days I get home later than that. But today happened to be a day that I actually got my mail. Since my daily mail consists of 98% credit card applications and 2% bills, I usually just throw it in the passenger seat next to me for the ride home. I don’t even bother looking through it until I get near a garbage because I know that 99.9% of it will end end up in the trash, unopened and shredded.
When I got home and threw the mail on the table, I noticed a small newspaper was delivered to me. Wondering what it was, I looked at the label and realized that it was supposed to be delivered to the P.O. Box next to me. This happens all the time - I’m forever getting other people’s shit. I’m sure that they get just as much of mine. Anyway, this newspaper was called the Piscataquis Observer. It’s printed (on soy ink) in Dover-Foxcroft, Maine. Since I’m not up on the hyphenated towns of Maine (must have slept through that class), I never heard of this place. Hell, I only know one person who even lives in that state.
Now, when I get home from work, I usually have to use the facilities. Hold on, this story is actually going somewhere, be patient. Pooping is integral to the plot. Anyway, being a male, I have to read while using said facilities. Not having any proper light reading, the Observer followed me in.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
While perusing the periodical, I learned that there’s a berry festival on July 22nd (that’s already happened). One title read “New K-8 School for MSAD 46,” whatever the hell that means. There are Falt Sculptures in Monson. One local woman received a weight loss honors for losing 125 pounds over 5 years. Of course, she originally weighed 395 pounds, so, even after dieting for that amount of time, she is still basically a fat ass. I’m mean, c’mon, she still weighs a deus+70. She’s not exactly shopping in the petite isle yet. She credits her weight loss to doing her own housework.
Then I came across an article entitled “Lakeshore Pub is Place to Savor.” This piece had a few pictures, and in one of the pictures was the one person I know from the state of Maine.
Here’s the article in it’s entirety. Hopefully this local newspaper doesn’t hunt me down and sue me for copyright infringement or something. If anyone asks, I got permission from the author first, OK? So, see that guy with the John Holmes-esque mustache? He’s one of my parent’s friends and someone who I saw every week, if not everyday, while I was growing up.
Now, take a minute to ponder how crazy this is. I just happened to get a newspaper from somewhere far away because It was misfiled by the Post Office. The guy with the P.O. Box next to me just happens to get a newspaper from some small town in Maine. The small town newspaper just happens to be from the same small town in Maine where my friend lives. This edition of the newspaper just happened to have an article on my friend and his new Pub. And I just happened to decide not to throw the newspaper away and instead take it with me to the crapper.
Is this a synchronicity? I don’t know, because I don’t know what the word means, but it looks really cool in red letter at the top of this page.
