Today, for the
first time, I delivered a package to the home of someone that I know.
And it just so happened to the be the home of the valedictorian of my
high school, a girl I haven't seen in four years who just graduated
from an ivy league with a degree in Biochemistry (or something
similarly difficult and impressive-sounding).
I was not about to
let myself be seen.
When I first turned
into the neighborhood, I knew it looked familiar, but I didn't even
consider the possibility that I might actually know the person to
whom my package was addressed. It seemed too improbable. But them I
pulled up to the house, and some bells started ringing in the back of
my head. I took a second look at the address label as I walked to the
front door. Oh my gosh. It was her. Crap. The last thing I felt like
doing was having a conversation in the cold morning air about why I
was on this girl's porch with a package in hand wearing an oversized
purple jacket that said FedEx.
So I did what any
self-respecting individual would do. I set the package on the step,
rang the doorbell, and ran.
Am I a coward?
Possibly. Do I have too much pride? Probably. Do I regret my
decision? No way.
I also delivered
three boxes to Anthropologie, the ultra-chic clothing and home décor
store that I love but on my current salary cannot afford. Let me tell
you, I felt more than a little out of place in my too-short navy
pants with reflector pockets and PowerPad holster. I swear I
normally look cuter than this, I wanted to tell the clerk who
signed for the packages. He gave me a sympathetic look.
If nothing else,
this job is certainly a good lesson in humility.
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