Why am I so grumpy?

Why am I so grumpy? On the face of it I have no real need to be grumpy. I have a job, a lovely girlfriend, great parents and good set of friends but the slightest thing still makes me grumpy, miserable and frustrated.

Tuesday, 3 August 2010

Very annoying post

I make no apologies, this is a very, very small problem and one that probably won’t elicit any kind of empathy, but I don’t have a key to my mailbox at my flat. Phew, it feels good to get that off my chest.

 I get hardly any post, even the bank emails statements now, so in total the flat receives no more than 3 letters per week. But it’s really irritating. Because I rent and our landlord has no interest in the flat, I can’t easily open the mailbox to get my post (or break it and get a new one). It seems such a small problem and one that would have an easy solution. But it doesn’t. We can’t get the key.

I can imagine you all (3 of you) reading this post thinking “so how do you get your post?”. Well, I’m pleased you’ve asked.

Whereas some of you will have you post on the door mat when you come in and others will slip a little key into a box and open it, I have developed a new method involving a chair and 2 spatulas. Here’s how I get my post: (see diagram)

  1. Peer into the top of the box through the “post in” slot and see post
  2. Try to put hand through “annoyingly small gap”
  3. Get irritated that my hand is too large for the annoying small gap (as it is every time)
  4. Stare angrily at the “redundant lock”
  5. Trudge upstairs, annoyed
  6. Come back down stairs with a chair and 2 spatulas
  7. Stand on chair
  8. Poke spatulas into the “post in” slot and try to press them together around the post and lever it upwards. Basically, it’s like trying to use chopsticks to lift a steak up in a bean can. Don’t ask why a steak would be in bean can, I don’t have an answer for that.
  9. Ignore the stares from curious onlookers and dab sweat from brow
  10. Repeat steps 8 and 9 several times, sweating more and turning a worrying shade of red
  11. Prize post out of mailbox, feel hugely heroic until salty sweat trickles onto eyeball, reverting me back to a state of anger

So there you have it. That’s how I get my post. Please don’t send me anything.

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