Considering Mister Shooter / June 3 2009
‘Well, as I keep telling you, it’s very inconvenient and annoying, to say the least. Please make sure it doesn’t happen again. Thank you.’
That was me on the telephone this morning speaking to a nice woman called Velma at the local Post Office depot.
Velma is the latest in a long lone of Post Office employees who have been hearing my complaints about a certain item of mail that is delivered on a regular basis to my address. She is the latest of a dozen various officials who have told me: ‘Yes, sorry about that, Mr Lawrence. We’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.’
Despite her and her colleagues’ well-meaning assurances, I am happily confident that it will, in fact, happen again.
About six times every year, an large envelope addressed to a Mr P. Shooter – a previous tenant, I have ascertained - is stuffed through my letterbox. Inside this envelope is a glossy catalogue displaying in full-colour and highly graphic detail a large range of sexual toys and various rubbery implements from a company called Up Yours.
Whilst I am not totally averse to quickly flicking through its pages before depositing said catalogue in the bin, I have noticed that the range of products available is almost always entirely the same; Up Yours’ range of wobbly vibrators and pink, blow-up dolls has, over the years, remained pretty constant. Thus, I do not need to see any more. Neither, I suspect, if he were in receipt of his catalogue, would Mr Shooter.
It seems that the Post Office has been ignoring my requests, however. And I do not have any intention of personally contacting Up Yours; goodness knows what else they might send me once they have my details. I do not want my actual name on further envelopes full of offers to buy embarrassing ‘real-feel’ contraptions at knock-down prices.
Not being listened to seems to be the story of my life – well, the main chapters, at least.
I am feeling slightly anxious and uncomfortable for another reason this morning, also. I had a lurid dream last night in which I was engaging in rampant sex action with the pretty wife of a Hammond organ-playing friend of mine. I still feel very guilty about it – she’s a happily married woman, after all. That dream was immediately followed by another in which I was on trial at Nuremberg.
Comments
2 comments on “Considering Mister Shooter”
jena / June 4th, 2009 at 5:03 pm
And I thought *I* was surrounded by dumb peckerwoods.
Napoleon Fantastic / June 5th, 2009 at 12:01 pm
Seems we both are, Jena.
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