The closure of the post office was disappointing partly because I couldn't cross anything off of my to-do list, but it was really disappointing because I felt that I'd been denied the opportunity to rendezvous with my post office crush, Byron. I love Byron, and I have for years.
I even snapped a picture of him today.
Byron is the opposite of the post office stereotype. He's happy, friendly, unarmed. He also flirts with me (or so I tell myself), which is disarming. "Mailing a package to Virginia, are we?" and "Anything perishable in here?" (I guess you had to be there--these were said in a decidedly flirty manner.) I just giggle and look away, coy girl that I am.
The first time I saw my post office crush I knew we had a special connection. You know how you can tell, what with the eye contact and the smiles and the great customer service. The second time I saw him I was with Matt, and I told Matt that I had a crush on one of the workers. Matt knew immediately which one had caught my fancy--Byron, tall, handsome, witty, a winning smile. But, because Byron is about 50 and about as unattainable as they come, Matt didn't feel threatened. And knowing my track record on crushes, I must acknowledge that there's about a 90% chance that Byron is gay.
But I hope not.
What would be a menial task is now fun with a chance of romance. I stand there in line, with two grouchy women and the shining light of Byron taking customers. The entire time I stand in line I try to manipulate the situation so that I can go to Byron's line. "Hey, old lady, do you need to go ahead of me?" "Move it, kid, I was here first!"
And then Byron and I share a moment, and I look at his name tag, learn his last name, and try to decide if it'd be creepy if I tried to friend him on Facebook.
Yes, it would pretty much be the creepiest thing that ever happened.
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