Sunday, 13 September 2009

History part III.

The second uniform came with the little yellow moped. This was after the divorce, after the ridiculously embarrassing suicide attempt. One lovely February end I was sitting in a cafe and got distracted from my self-loathing and hardcore commiserating by a postman, zigzagging around the street. he seemed so cool, such a happy jack on that stupid little moped. Such a grin on the man.

So, me being me, I walked into the post office and told them I want to be one. There are no girl postmen obviously, which is probably why they hired me almost at once (it's a wanted job, so there's quite a waiting list or so I'm told), and the first smack to reality when I walked into the hive, was a handshake from the biggest, best dressed man I've ever seen. Not that the suit was overdone, it was just the man wearing it that struck me. The army instinct nearly made me run from him, as he was the build Gods made for marginally brain dead bullies, but he turned out to be totally awesome.

If you wanna know just how it felt, buy the picture book :D But for half a year, that was a really really cool job. HARD like a s.o.b., another weight-loser, sometimes 14 hours of dragging around Ikea catalogues through regions populated by half literate and often unpleasant costumers. But overall, incredibly cool job. I even put my mind to purchasing a fancy power bike, to be a leather working biker chick, and then crashed my little yellow moped at 4km/h and broke my shoulder blade and scraped the side of my leg, where never a hair grew away.