Saturday, 16 November 2002 | Package

Just before I left for work yesterday, I got my first prank call in Spanish. At least I think it was a prank call, as I heard two small voices and some giggling, and because they kept talking to me, even after I'd hesitantly responded in English. But I don't know enough Spanish to know if they were asking whether my refrigerator was running or if they had a legitimate question. I felt bad when I finally hung up. I wanted to participate, but couldn't.

I left early to have time to walk to the post office and pick up a package, but no matter how early I get there, I run out of time, inevitably forced to stand in a long line of seemingly patient people who are being served by one slow oblivious postal worker. There's a TV hanging from the wall to keep minds occupied (and perhaps mouths quiet), but in the morning, it plays Good Morning America and only makes me anxious.

He handed me my package, and I ran a few blocks through the cool morning air and into the dank hole in the ground, where I stood breathless, watching the train pull away without me, and feeling cool sweat form beneath my layers.

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Happy Birthday to everyone who has a birthday today.