The Bridge Over the River Styx

P.O. Box 666
Fifth Ring Avenue
Blue Blazes, Hell

The bridge over the river Styx was out today, so I had to wade through it.

I found myself standing in a line of ten or more people today at the south Flint Post Office, wasting away for the purpose of shipping off my hardcover copy of "Public Finance and the Price System" that garned for me enough money to buy a tank of 87 octane.

This experience today, standing in line, was a veritable symphomy of my childhood fears (cello and contra bass section) and my various pet peeves (the strings). No one likes standing in lines, that is a no-brainer. However, I can usually handle standing in line--as an internet bookseller I do it all the time.

Or at least I thought I could.

Today I had the misfortune of standing behind a woman who decided she would eschew a cameo appearance in my own personal hell in favor of the lead role. With the devil and Gene Wilder by her side, this woman started humming the "Oompa Loompa" song from "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory." She did this for five straight minutes before taking a rest.

If only she knew that I absolutely despise that song and everything it stands for. Oompa Loompas are disgusting little creatures that have, throughout recent history, done more to scare kids than clowns and Pee Wee Herman's talking furniture combined.

Her little humming solo brought it all back. You remember the boat scene through Willy Wonka's factory don't you? Or what about the scene where one of those little mutant freaks got sucked into the chocolate river's filtration system? Remember that?

These memories came flooding back with each and every hummed note of that infernal song.

Finally the woman handled her business at the front desk and all was right with the world--and then someone's phone rang.

There is little worse, in my world, than having to listen to people converse on their cell phones in small public settings. You know, places like branch offices of the United States Post Office.

But, in this case it was even worse than that. I had to listen to the insipid musical ring tone that has replaced the "so ten years ago" ring. After regaining my composure, I took notice of a woman, probably in her twenties, busily labelling a package. She had a stumped look on her face and picked up her cell phone and started dialing.

"Hey" she said.

"How do you spell 'inventory'?"

Here's the thing: The voice on the other end of the line was, essentially, her lifeline. He was her ace in the hole. He was the person who she could count on, above all others, to be able to spell this infrequently used word.

He spelled it wrong.

She double-checked it and he spelled it wrong again. She wasn't satisfied, however, until he spelled for her another word that had escaped her.

"Ok, how about the word 'attention'?"

One out of two isn't bad.

Poll the audience next time, girlfriend. Fifteen heads are better than one--or some combination thereof.

So not only was this woman comfortable with having a phone conversation that everyone could hear, but she seemed ok with the fact that half the people in the post office would think that she was a bird brain.

She must have been compelled by the same force of nature that drove the hummer in front of me to do what she did. I guess pet peeves would not be pet peeves were they not continual annoyances.

And so it goes.

"Listen to the Blues, people. Listen to what they're saying." B.B. King