Sometimes, you just have one of those days…or weeks…or months that seems interminable. Mired in monotony and vicious cycles of paperwork, you can easily begin to lose sight of why you even go to work every morning in the first place. You start having illogical thoughts like, “I don’t need a paycheck — I don’t need all these material possessions — I should just blow this shack and start a scooter rental place in the Maldives.” You make pointless trips to the coffee bar — even just to get a cup of water — so that you feel somewhat free of of umbilical cord that ties you to your desk. You increasingly turn to lurid, trashy websites that you know are probably against company policy, in a futile effort to remain somewhat lucid in the face of crushing boredom. And you look forward — desperately, salivatingly — to any small moment that will shatter the tedium of the day.
I had one such small moment today. One of my contacts in the field asked me to overnight him some documents. I asked for his address and he sent me back a P.O. Box. I can’t believe I still have to tell people this after all this time, but you can’t FedEx or UPS or DHL or send anything else overnight to a P.O. Box — you must have a physical address. I guess I thought this was common knowledge, but apparently not. So, I wrote him back to request his physical address.
This is what he sent back:
30 miles west of Odessa
Past the metal gate
What is this, Mad Max? Do you guys live in a world out there in West Texas that is devoid of physical addresses? Or are you just unclear on the concept/definition of “physical address”?
Strangely enough, the answer is (b) — certain parts of West Texas are strangely devoid of addresses, since it’s so sparsely populated. I thought it was (c) and acted like a complete asshole towards the guy, basically wording my e-mail to him exactly as it is stated above. I’ve really got to cut down on that assholeishness. And probably the trashy websites, too.
At least I made it through the afternoon doldrums today, though.