Mary Birdsong


What's a gal gotta DO to be more "receptive" to these coquettish UPS guys? Sit on my curb in a nightie and a tattoo of my InfoNotice #?

What’s a gal gotta DO to be more “receptive” to these coquettish UPS guys? Sit on my curb in a nightie w/a tramp stamp of my InfoNotice #?




Hey, UPS…. hi.   (Mind if I call ya U?  Great. Thanks, U.)  I see you attempted delivery today, U.  Interesting,  cuz I was home, chained to my desk, ALL THE LIVE-LONG,  DOUBLE-DAMNED, DAY!  I played no radio, no television.  Watched no loud videos on my laptop. I didn’t even take a freakin’ SHOWER!  I just sat there waiting for you.    What the hell do I have to do to be more receptive to your deliveries?  Spread my legs and wait on the curb in a clingy marabou nightie?  My name and  “InfoNotice” number inked onto my skin in a tramp stamp of despair?  My building’s super even stopped by to inspect my smoke alarm.  And HE managed to get in somehow.  I wonder how? HOW did he do it?  What technology did he enlist in this baffling, momentous quest?  Ohhhhh, right….

He knocked.  

Ya know… on wood?

Yeeeeeaaah… You might wanna look into it.  I’m sure they have training programs at The Learning Annex. Oy maybe you can find a “how to” video on Ted? Or maybe there’s a button you can push on that super-sonic Battlestar Galactica death-ray scanning gun that will allow you to access something called a telephone! 


Okay, I admit that when I was younger, when you first started playing this hot/cold, coquettish, cat and mouse game with me so many years ago, I was smitten.  It was cute at first. But not anymore.  I have shit to do now.  So why do you STILL INSIST on hiding in the bushes until I get in my car and  prancing nimbly to my apartment with your “stick it on the door” memo of doom?  And don’t tell me to join your exclusive “clubs” like UPS MyChoice, cuz I already DID!  Besides, any club that would have me as a member is a club I have no interest in jo–

Aw forGET it.  Look, we’re gonna FINISH this conversation when I come to the  warehouse in Omaha to pick it up myself.

Actually, ya know what?  I didn’t really need that insulin anyway.  You can keep it. 

(Pssssst… Don’t have enough UPS horror stories of your own?  Then click here for the best of the worst!)



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