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Valuable Mailings, Here and There
Lydia Burgess had opened the cardboard box right there on the porch. And there it sat, at her feet, cradling a brand-new pair of lambskin slippers all the way from New Zealand (which she never ordered), and a receipt with her credit card information (which proved she had). She took three steps back to stand in her doorway and left the package on the ground. She stared at it for a long stretch of minutes, desperately trying to conjure up the memory of making the purchase. She couldn’t. Frustrated, she stepped forward to claim the package and brought it inside. She supposed worse things could come from her forgetfulness, which was interrupting her day-to-day with alarming frequency. At least the slippers were nice. With a sigh, she shut the door behind her, set the box on the coffee table, and pulled out the mysterious footwear. She dropped each slipper to the ground and slipped her tired feet into them. They were heavenly. Lydia walked back to her recliner and sat down to watch her soap operas and browse a new romance. -- A package sat beside a slew of architecture books on his coffee table, awaiting inspection. Percy gave it a look, at first from a distance. Brown with white labels. Addressed to me. Approx. 12x12 inches. He lifted it. Approx. 2lbs. No visible holes or defects. He set it back down on the coffee table. Delicately, Percy used a letter opener to pierce the tape – one nick at each end. Broke seal at 11:33am. He used the opener to slice through the rest of the tape, pushing it slowly down the middle of the box’s joined edges. Two at a time, he lifted the flaps and exposed the contents. Opened at 11:34am. Box is filled with packing peanuts. He set his notepad on his lap and the pen on the table and sifted through the packing material, which he transferred to a plastic bag he’d already prepared. He picked his notebook up again, scrawling faster than before. Emptied packing peanuts at 11:36am. He set it back down. Percy leaned over to look inside the box. Another box that read Stress Relief Gift Box and “Tools to calm the mind and soothe the soul.” Perplexed, he picked up his notepad. Main contents are in “stress relief gift box” wrapped in ribbon. Do not remember ordering. No sender information. Setting aside his pad, he pulled the gift box from the packaging and examined it more closely. A list of stress relieving tools included a back massager, a stress ball, several candles, bubble bath, cigars, and a good bottle of wine. He wrote the list of items in his notepad. Likely will not use the cigars or bubble bath. His pen paused. Will try the rest tonight. -- Nancy Walker had a gift for numbers. In well under a minute, she could memorize whole strings of them, as if they were her home phone number or her parents’ zip code. Standing behind the checkout counter in her bookstore, she watched as a young mother chased her young son around the shelves. The woman juggled a toddler in one arm, with the other arm perpetually reaching to grab a child she would simply never catch. Nancy smiled gently. Her eyes practically jingled. “There’s a children’s corner up here beside the register, miss. It might help keep him occupied while you’re browsing,” Nancy offered, gesturing toward a small table with books, crafts, and a handful of toys. The woman heaved a very visible sigh of relief, pushing the tension out of the empty shop. She herded the boy to the table and captured some of his attention with a toy truck, a coloring book, and an enormous box of crayons. “Here, honey. Why don’t you color this truck to match the real one?” The boy’s eyes focused at the challenge and he set to work. His mother hurried back to the shelves as soon as his attention was diverted. Eight minutes later, she reappeared—a thick novel in hand—and approached the register. The boy on her hip was silent, with wide, curious eyes. “Your children seem so intelligent,” Nancy said warmly. “Very eager to explore.” Nancy took the book and began ringing her up. “Thanks,” the mother smiled. Her eyes thrilled at the compliment. Her face was lined with stress, her hair frazzled, but her clothes sophisticated, if a bit unkempt. She pulled out a credit card and handed it to Nancy. The young woman gestured toward her son, who was losing interest in art and snapping crayons in half. “This one’s been nothing but nuts for the last three days, though,” she sighed, shaking her head. “He somehow managed to break our stroller on Friday. My husband’s out of town on business for the next week, and I can’t take them anywhere without it, so I haven’t even replaced it yet. But a girl needs her books and growing boys need their groceries,” she said, bouncing the baby in her arms. “Don’t they?” Nancy chuckled. She glanced at the credit card briefly before swiping it to cover the purchase. Handing it back, she flashed a big, friendly grin. “Are you on our customer list? Subscribers get valuable mailings here and there,” she offered.
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