------------------------------------------------------------------- Living Hell - Volume #1, Issue #7 ------------------------------------------------------------------- August 12, 2001 =============== Contents ======== o The Aural Sex o Going Postal o August Sucks The Aural Sex ============= Essay and added addendum located here. Going Postal ============ I spend a lot of time waiting in line at the post office. See, I sell stuff online-- toys at auction sites, used books used-book sites, etc.-- so I'm always shippin' somethin' somewhere. And sinceI have a "day job," mail runs are made during lunch, during the week. Or, more often on Saturday mornings, when I'm racing to make the mere *two-hour* window that the friendly neighborhood "PO" is open. And where, upon arrival, Yours Lagging invariably finds himself five-, ten-, or fifteen-people deep with similarly situated schleps. Like public transportation-- at least in those cities that *have* it-- or, I suppose, natural disasters, the post office is one of life's great equalizers. Prince or pauper, Congressman or intern, everyone both (a.) puts on their clown pants one leg at a time and (b.) has to wait in line to mail letters. (Home-computer printed postage, corporate mail services, etc., excepted, of course.) Ex- pectedly, what results on Saturday is an interesting, sometimes ex- citing, and always unpredictable elbow-rub with the Great Unwashed. (Or on those days when a certain someone hasn't washed their [hind- quarters], the Great, *Fellow* Unwashed.) And, oh, what a glorious, over-powering sensory experience it is! For yours Olfactory Enhanced-- thanks to three, count 'em *three*, sinus surgeries in my twenties-- the smells sting first. Body eau and sweat and little kiddie "diaper stink." (The adult equivalent of the latter shall go unnamed.) Older women wearing "old lady" perfume; gents wearing a brick-wall's worth of cologne. "Cigarette stink" is less common, thank goodness. And, maybe one in twenty wafts of old, moldy, moth-protected clothing. (Those "hair treat- ments" reek the worst-est. Shampoo is less room-filling, unless you're standing directly next to a person of "bigger-haired" per- suasion.) Other sensory assaults include sound, notably the ever-present, al- ways-varied Southern Drawl, and, of course, sight. Or, shall we say, "sights." As my side of town is *everybody's* side of town, postal visits are the quintessential multi-class, multi-ethnic, multi-generational experience. Living parades, if you will, with every conceivable manner of shirt, shorts, hair style, skin color, body type, facial completion, speech impediment or physical infir- mary, sports bra, work shirt, tank top, ball cap, demanding demean- or, change counting speed, belly-enhancing body suit, parenting a- bility or lack thereof, items idly chewed in mouth (digestible or otherwise), and utter clueless-ness with regard to packing tape. 'Tis a grand-but-brief tour of the human universe. (Or at least a wee corner of it.) And maybe a tour we should take more often, to remind ourselves both of who we *are* and who we are *not*. 'Cause, man, are people ever funny *and* different. August Sucks ============ The entire month. Says me. Copyright 2001 by Michael J. Legeros ------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------------------- Home Search Mike Legeros Copyright 2025 by Michael J. Legeros