Post Office Gomers
I was the only one in the post office near one of my stops yesterday, but no one was at the counter, so I rang the the very convenient courtesy bell to call on one of the attendants.
"Just a minute", "just a minute" came out of an unknown voice somewhere behind the mail. I couldn't tell if it was female or male, but it was distinctly southern. Although I live in Norfolk Virginia (which is more of a Navy town than a southern one) in an apartment across the street from the gas station, we have lots of dialects here, so southern voices pipe up more in the ear box than they would further down south.
I rang the bell again after about a five minute wait staring at a poster of an Ayn Rand stamp (she would have blown this sucker up...in a book of course), waiting for the mail counter person. I rang the bell again. "Just a minute"..."just a minute". Then it occurred to me that the non-yet sexual id'ed person back behind the mail sounded like Gomer Pyle!
This is the same Gomer who got fired from Wally's gas station because he kept telling stories to drivers while and after pumping their gas, therefore keeping a long line of cars waiting for their turn.
"Just a minute"..."just a minute"! I knew that voice, and whether it was a gas station operator or a post office geek, I was thinking that Gomer did indeed see the future, and it was him.
The post office person eventually came out from behind the pile of mail. She was a woman, and she apologized for taking so long. She was reading a letter from her sister Babe who is nurse in Patterson New Jersey, and she had a new boyfriend. I listened to it all.
I thought I'd be funny and threaten to take my business elsewhere, but I knew what we all know, there is no elsewhere, and besides if I threaten a mail employee, I just know she would have filched my mail out of the pile and sent it to North Korea, where all funny people's letter's go. This is our government. I know better than to mess around. I thought about pissing into one of the slots on the way out, but they would probably get my DNA and c'mon to my house.
When our "Dear Leader" signs his "Death To Medicine" bill sometime soon ( It's coming unless our dear Jesus comes and saves us) all the good people will have upset stomachs. See that? A good Jew Boy like myself praying to Jesus, of all people, because I'm so sad and nervous about Dr. Obama's Medicine Show.
It will, of course, be "a good first step" as the President will proclaim on signing day (say...where could I get one of those pens?). He and his associates will be disappointed that they were not able to do all that they had promised, but "this my friends, is a good first step". To what? Single payer, real live socialised medicine for everyone; rich and poor, dead or alive, want it or not. I think we're dead, men.
So back to the post office and Gomer. Change the scene to your Doctor's (sorry...OUR doctor's office) and keep a ringin' that bell. "Doctor I think I'm having a stroke...doctor, I'm bleeding from the rectum, help me help me...I have broken neck, my knee bone ain't connected to my thigh bone no more...I need ya, I need ya"!
"Just a minute, just a minute". Doctor Pyle will get to you after he tells this really cool story to Jasper. And maybe this won't be so bad after awhile, anyhow. Or maybe it will.
The dead tell no tales.
"Just a minute", "just a minute" came out of an unknown voice somewhere behind the mail. I couldn't tell if it was female or male, but it was distinctly southern. Although I live in Norfolk Virginia (which is more of a Navy town than a southern one) in an apartment across the street from the gas station, we have lots of dialects here, so southern voices pipe up more in the ear box than they would further down south.
I rang the bell again after about a five minute wait staring at a poster of an Ayn Rand stamp (she would have blown this sucker up...in a book of course), waiting for the mail counter person. I rang the bell again. "Just a minute"..."just a minute". Then it occurred to me that the non-yet sexual id'ed person back behind the mail sounded like Gomer Pyle!
This is the same Gomer who got fired from Wally's gas station because he kept telling stories to drivers while and after pumping their gas, therefore keeping a long line of cars waiting for their turn.
"Just a minute"..."just a minute"! I knew that voice, and whether it was a gas station operator or a post office geek, I was thinking that Gomer did indeed see the future, and it was him.
The post office person eventually came out from behind the pile of mail. She was a woman, and she apologized for taking so long. She was reading a letter from her sister Babe who is nurse in Patterson New Jersey, and she had a new boyfriend. I listened to it all.
I thought I'd be funny and threaten to take my business elsewhere, but I knew what we all know, there is no elsewhere, and besides if I threaten a mail employee, I just know she would have filched my mail out of the pile and sent it to North Korea, where all funny people's letter's go. This is our government. I know better than to mess around. I thought about pissing into one of the slots on the way out, but they would probably get my DNA and c'mon to my house.
When our "Dear Leader" signs his "Death To Medicine" bill sometime soon ( It's coming unless our dear Jesus comes and saves us) all the good people will have upset stomachs. See that? A good Jew Boy like myself praying to Jesus, of all people, because I'm so sad and nervous about Dr. Obama's Medicine Show.
It will, of course, be "a good first step" as the President will proclaim on signing day (say...where could I get one of those pens?). He and his associates will be disappointed that they were not able to do all that they had promised, but "this my friends, is a good first step". To what? Single payer, real live socialised medicine for everyone; rich and poor, dead or alive, want it or not. I think we're dead, men.
So back to the post office and Gomer. Change the scene to your Doctor's (sorry...OUR doctor's office) and keep a ringin' that bell. "Doctor I think I'm having a stroke...doctor, I'm bleeding from the rectum, help me help me...I have broken neck, my knee bone ain't connected to my thigh bone no more...I need ya, I need ya"!
"Just a minute, just a minute". Doctor Pyle will get to you after he tells this really cool story to Jasper. And maybe this won't be so bad after awhile, anyhow. Or maybe it will.
The dead tell no tales.
posted by Mr. Liberty at 1:52 PM
5 Comments:
You must be dead already, Joe, 'cause every time I leave a comment here I get an e-mail saying you no longer exist.
Ah well.
"Doggonit, Gomer, your minutes are turning into hours. That patient was so mad his kidney exploded!"
Hi Phil,
There is some confusion between my blog and Google as to who is in charge.
Please let me know if you see my response when you come back to my blog.
You're my only one, Phil. I need to know! Otherwise it's back to matchstick covers for me.
Joe
Yes, I see you. Right across the street from the gas station.
The note I get when I post here just tells me your old email address is toast.
word verification: tedlychm
by golly..that's the medicine I'm on right now!
Tedlychm is good for you, Phil.
All you need is a dime for one pill. Plus hams, fried chickens, soup, and all the other greasy things that make us feel better.
Joe
Hi Joseph,
I've being doing my family tree and I believe you and I are cousins...my great grandfather was a Abraham Isaac Swartz and his wife was a fannie Postove. Fannie's father was Joseph and his wife was named Lena. Joseph and Lena had Harry, Joseph, and Herman. does this ring a bell? The address I have for a Joseph Postove is 624 Baldwin Ave. Does this sound familiar at all? I was born in Virgina too...Take care..
Dawn
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