Dear Ms. Taylorq,
Today a packaged addressed to you was in my mailbox. It was misdelivered because the sender had your building number, but no apartment number. Also, since “Taylorq” is not a real surname, I’m guessing you had a case of the “fat fingers” when you ordered this.
The package, which appears to be workout clothing of some kind, is too large for me to drop in the mailbox, so out of the kindness of my heart, I went knocking on doors to try to find you.
Our building has 8 apartments. I live in one of them, which leaves 7 possible units for you to live in. 2 of the apartments are unoccupied, so only 5 remain. One of the apartments, I went to on Christmas to complain about the noise, is occupied by people who only speak Spanish, and I assume none of them are named “Georgia Taylorq.” Maybe that comes across as racist, but I’m just playing the odds.
I only need to check 4 apartments now. This should be a cinch. Checked with the apartment above me and asked if you lived there. They said no.
3 left. Knocked on the apartment where a single mother and her two kids live. Someone comes to the door, looks through the peephole, and decides not to answer. I’m fairly certain this was you.
Don’t get me wrong, scrawny white guy knocking on the door at 6:15 at night? Seems pretty scary, right?
DONT’ TRUST THIS GUY, SOMETHIN’S UP!
I continued on to the remaining apartments and get the same treatment. People didn’t want to answer the door. Now, I’m stuck with your stupid package, because you’re an idiot and don’t know how to enter your address (or spell your stupid name), and now you’ve made my life a living hell because you refuse to answer your door!
In a moment of rage, my body took control and I involuntarily begin the motion of dropkicking your package into the unforgiving night. I stop, not wanting to hit a car with it, and let it hit the ground. I considered taking it with me to work, since I can’t leave it in the mail slot, and mail it back to the company, to contact you, get your FULL address (that includes the crucial apartment number) and re-ship it.
That would probably take forever, and it would be MUCH, MUCH faster for me to very kindly bring it to your door, so you can get it today, right? Well, you blew that opportunity. That’s long gone now, because now I’ve been subjected to rejection, which I typically avoid at all costs.
YOU’RE IN MY WORLD NOW, AND I OWN YOU GEORGIA TAYLORQ!
So here’s what I did. I walked back to the bank of mailboxes, and I spiked your package into the sidewalk as hard as I could. Well, I was worried it would make a sound, so it wasn’t “as hard as I could”, but it was probably about 70% of my total spiking power.
It’s really soft, so unfortunately, spiking the package can’t “break” anything, but it was an emotional relief to damage it, even if it’s just on a karmic level.
I assure you, the aura of this item was irreversibly tainted when I threw it.
You’ve wasted my time tonight, you’ve insulted me, and I hope you never, ever get this package, and I hope you never find happiness.
An FORMER Good Samaritan