Once you finally escape with your treasure, you’ll notice something: you will be back. Because the universe loves irony, your next parcel will also arrive while you’re at work. And you’ll think, “Ah, West Reading, my old friend. You magnificent, infuriating fortress of cardboard.”
Some people say the office has a pet ghost. I think it’s just a particularly stubborn postal sorter named Brenda who won’t retire. She’s been there since before stamps had glue. If you listen closely, you can hear her mutter, “Sign here… and next time, use a bigger font.”
So, fellow parcel-hunter, embrace the chaos. Bring a snack. Wear comfortable shoes. And if they ask for ID, just smile and give them your best 2012 hat-face. You’ve earned your place in the queue.
