It's been a strange day in this neighborhood, and it's not even lunch yet.
I went to the post office and it wasn't its usual efficient (in an Italian kind of way) self. The machine that spits out the numbers wasn't working quite right. The paper only came out far enough to juuuuusssssst get your fingertip onto it and with enough pressure you could slide it out. There were few people there and all five stations were manned (or womanned as was the case today). We all dutifully stared at the monitor waiting for our number to come up while most of the women at the stations stared back at us wondering where number A014 was hiding. The numbers kept changing, no one rushed up to the counter waving their ticket number in victory. Finally one of the woman simply asked the room at large if someone would like to be helped next. Sadly, her line didn't have a little picture of an envelope above it so I couldn't go to her, but the rest of the room looked happy that something was finally happening. One poor man had number A034 and as soon as he had wrestled the number from the machine his number popped up on the monitor. With a big smile he walked toward station 1 only to find an empty chair behind the desk. He looked at me. I looked at him. We both looked at his number. We both looked at the monitor. We both looked at the empty chair. I shrugged my shoulders as his eyebrows gathered into a bunch in the middle of his forehead. After a terse and slightly confrontational conversation with the woman at station 2 (who didn't like being interrupted) the missing postal worker was found and restored to her desk. He was still firing questions at her in a very peeved voice when I left.
On the way home from shopping for groceries I saw two local policewomen standing in a street corner next to a traffic cone. It seemed a strange thing to be doing (I've heard nothing about a rash of traffic cone burglaries) so I looked closer. There, closely watched by police in snappy uniforms and sidearms, was a medium sized pothole. They were guarding this pothole till someone came to fix it. If only Minnesota treated their potholes with such care and concern.
And finally...I always look at the posters that are hung everywhere on my walk from the store. Upcoming events like concerts and festivals and operas are advertised there. Today I saw a new one promoting a coming water rugby match. Water rugby? Rugby on the ground is dangerous...imagine fighting over a ball underwater with no air tanks. But the biggest question I have is Where do the spectator sit??? The best action undoubtedly happens underwater.
Obviously I need coffee...or chocolate...oooh, or both.