Mail them an offer they can't refuse.

I have huge hands.

Huge.

So you know that that means.

It means that I should never.

I repeat never.

Ever.

Ever ever.

Ever ever ever.

Try to stick my hand in the opening of a mailbox to make sure my mail fell all the way down.

Especially if I am doing this at a drive thru drop off mailbox.

At night.

Wearing a watch.

You’re getting ahead of me aren’t you?

About 8:00pm last night we decide we need to have chicken.

Why so late?

Oh the usual, “What do you want for dinner?”

“Oh I dunno what do you want for dinner?”

“Anything you decide.”

“Okay Mexican food.”

“I don’t want Mexican food.”

“Well what do you want?”

“I said anything.”

So about an hour later…..

“El Pollo Loco”.

To me this was the perfect opportunity to mail the bills that have been sitting on the bar since Friday.

To kill two “birds” with one stone so to speak. (rim shot)

Now to quote Fredo Corleone.

“It ain't the way I wanted it! I can handle things! I'm smart! Not like everybody says... like dumb... I'm smart and I want respect!”

Here’s the thing.

When my wife says she needs to eat, she needs to eat. I have about an hour window to prevent Lucifer from appearing.

We had been discussing food for almost an hour.

I’m running out of time.

But I should be okay to drop of the mail and then get dinner because the post office is….

“On the way.”

When I pulled into the drive thru drop of lane I had to make the choice between the six mailboxes I could drop my mail into.

Now being “smart” I figure not to drop my mail in the mail boxes at either end because thieves might try to steal those. (I have no idea why this popped into my head. It’s a guy thing that happens when we get older and paranoid from watching too much FOX news.)

So I drop my mail into the fourth mailbox.

You know how when you drop mail down into the mailbox it normally makes that sound? Kind of like “Kerchunk.”

Yeah…

It didn’t make that sound.

It made a ruffled paper sound.

My mail was on top of a pile of other mail that had backed up into the mailbox!!!!

I panicked.

What if Al Qaeda reached in and stole my mail???

Terrorists could have my mail!!!!

I tried to reach down into the slot to pull my mail back out.

Um…..

Like I said, I have really huge hands…..

I am now stuck in the mailbox slot.

I can feel my mail with my fingertips but I can’t pull it out. I can’t pull anything out because I am now wedged in the mailbox slot.

I try pushing my arm in to see if I can’t grab the mail and pull it out and an angle.

I now have my hand and watch stuck in the mailbox.

Cars are pulling in behind me to drop off their mail.

They’re honking.

I undo my seatbelt and half open the car door to get a better angle.

And accidentally take my foot off of the brake.

I am now stuck with my hand over my shoulder out the car window and I can’t back up because the jackass behind me moved up as I moved my car.

Well I’m not going anywhere.

Until the band on my watch breaks.

I yank my arm free and drive off humiliated.

But as I drive away I keep thinking that damn mailbox has my watch and my mail and someone is going to reach in and grab them.

So I go around the block and wait until no cars are coming and go back thru the mailbox drive thru. I know I can’t reach in there again. (because I’m smart) So I take my umbrella out of the trunk of my car (I knew I’d eventually use it for something, it’s not like I need it for rain) and try and reach in with my umbrella to scoop my watch and my mail out.

Not a good idea.

This post office Nazi comes out and starts yelling at me about government property and PRISON and whatever….

“And that’s why it took me over an hour to get your chicken.”

“You… you… I... You’re not making this up are you?”

“Look at this face. Look at it. Does this face say I’m making this up.”

“That face says you’re an idiot.”

“Stop laughing. The terrorists may have my watch and our mail.”

“Then let them make our mortgage payment.”

“I could have lost an arm.”

“Did you give the post office employee your information so they would mail your watch back to you?”

“Of course not! You never tell a postal worker where you live!”

“Uh… Okay Fredo…. Now let me eat my dinner in peace…. Hey! You forgot the salsa!”