Crabby Packages

Packages delivered that sit waiting outside doors have started going missing in my apartment building.

I got a package yesterday where the top had been ripped open just far enough to slide the book inside, out and see what it was. The Dispossessed, Chronicles of the Desterrados of Colombia by Alfredo Molano.

Clearly it had been slid right back in as it was still there when I got home...good thing I read books that our package thief doesn't like.

In other news, I started my internship hours on Monday for Safety Town. It's basically just me working as a volunteer until the program, and my pay, start because I need to fill out 300 hours for the internship to count. I haven't exactly been loving the pumping up kickballs, washing toys and bins that have been soaked in bubble juice, stapling 350 packets together by hand, counting how many letters of scrabble games are missing, etc.

But what I love even less is the concentrated population of (mainly) crabby middle-aged women. The fact that they are middle-aged and women is actually irrelevant, it's the fact that they're so crabby that makes me sad.

Today I politely asked someone which printer the computer would print at, and she just glared at me and pointed to the other side of the room without saying a word.

To everyone who is reading this, hold me accountable: Please allow me my crabby days, but don't ever allow me a crabby life.