Let me start by saying I appreciate the great people who work in our local post office. They are hardworking and somehow still smile and have a welcoming greeting when I step up to the window.
Oh, I have had to wait. Who hasn’t? I like to think of myself as a good waiter-in-liner. So, when I get my turn I am happy to be told over and over again that I have chosen the wrong box to mail my do dads in. My mistake, again. AARRGGHH
I am from the era where I had to scrounge to find a box, mark out all the writing and take off all the old tape. Then reform it into a passable mailing box. If it was in really bad shape I would cut up a paper bag and wrap the box all pretty. But. Yes a plain brown paper wrapped “but.” Now the post office offers wonderful new clean, stain free boxes to choose from.
Unfortunately, I have yet to pass the, “read the box, the whole box,” to get the right box to send goodies out. It makes for a red face and some shouting in my head, “Yes, she did it again,” as I walk the walk of shame out the door with the right box to “trade” out with. You know, considering that it is a 20-mile round trip for me to the post office you would think I would get it right. Nope. Apparently I really like the ride to town.
I’m pretty sure I’m not the only person on Mother Earth to make the same mistake more than once or twice or thrice. A small probable mistake thing I’ve noticed more than a few times are things left at the checkout counter. You know a jar of spaghetti sauce or a box of scouring pads kinda hidden in the candy display. Or a package of baby wipes tucked under a box of jerky just before the moving belt.
Seems the person or persons unloading the cart made a mistake and didn’t really want that particular brand of baby wipes. So, things get left there for the night crew to clean up and put back on the shelves from where they came. Sometimes it’s like shopping as you unload your own cart, seeing all the things people have mistakenly picked up and then just kinda left them there for the next person. NOT!
Most things try to keep me from making mistakes. Like getting gas. Finally, after many years I am comfortable in getting gas by myself. I know to use the red or black gas handles not the green. Unless driving something that takes diesel. I know that once the pump quits it is not in my best interest to try to get it up to a round number. Seems that little on/off, on/off adds to the amount but does not put gas in my tank. Just a little gas knowledge I like to pass along.
I also know that I always need a receipt. Can’t prove to Uncle Sam I bought gas without one.
Mistakes are inevitable. They are how we, well OK, how I learn. Apparently it takes some of us longer to learn.
To this day I need to spell my last name letter by letter as I write it. Which has proven interesting along my path. Now it’s really causing some thought as I am trying to get a web site going. Most people will use their name and a “dot com” afterward. My last name is slaughtered on a regular basis so using “trinamachacek.com” would be interesting to say the least. Here’s a place that I don’t want to make a mistake. I mean from what I am told it is not like Las Vegas. What goes up on the internet stays up on the internet. FOREVER. No, a mistake here will follow me-even into the post office.
There’s one more awkward but not the last mistake I seem to make, luckily just occasionally though. It’s in my checkbook. Might be wishful thinking. But sometimes I add when I am supposed to subtract. Over the years this has caused quite a stir in my world as you can imagine. I am one of those who balances my check book every month. Some months the bank is just wrong. HAHA. “No the bank is never wrong.” I heard that more than once in my lifetime from my other half. Easy for him to say. As a bachelor, at the end of the month he drew a red line and started over. Try working with that!
Trina Machacek lives in Eureka. Her book, “They Call Me Weener,” is available on Amazon.com or email her at itybytrina@yahoo.com to get a signed copy.
