Whoever was a bang bang banging at my door seemed just a tad irate. It’s not like I took a long time to get to the door, I only came from my home office and through the kitchen, but the person was banging hard and fast.

“I’m coming.” I called out as I was half way across the lounge room floor.

My lounge room wasn’t that big so it’s not like I needed to call out and let the person a ratta tat tatting on my door know I was coming but I really didn’t want them to be huff and puff and blow my house down so it seemed appropriate.

Obviously I’d been hanging around Téa too long, even in my head I was starting to talk strangely.

I stepped up to the door and undid the deadbolt, the knocking stopped as I did so. I reached for the handle and turned it to open the door. I swung the door open and was greeted by a hurried voice on the other side of the screen door even before the wooden door was fully open.

“Shane Barnes?” I heard the voice, which I recognised immediately, say.

“Well I was just a few hours ago when you last knocked on the same door asking for me you numpty.” I thought as I unlatched and opened the security door not having to see the man to know it was the same delivery driver who had delivered Téa’s dial to me earlier in the day. Obviously he’d forgotten the second parcel first time around.

That’s what I thought, but I’m a nice enough person to not blurt out every thought that is in my head. Besides postal contractors in this country are a very temperament bunch, upset one of them and the whinny little puss buckets stop delivering and simply drop a card in your letterbox telling you to pick up your parcel from the post office.

The most annoying thing is that the cards they leave are emblazoned with the words, “We knocked but you didn’t answer!” Expect you could be watching them out the window and they still just stick their card in the letterbox making you go down to the post office if you want your parcel. But don’t go down before 4PM because despite the whiny little shits not working past 2PM your parcel can’t be found until after four and then you only get an hour to collect it along with all the other people who have looked at a postal contractor the wrong way and made them cry. And they wonder why this country is going down the shitter.

Oops, where was I? Oh yeah.

“Yes that’s me.” I said as the wonderfully charismatic and charming postal contractor handed me his hand held computer.

I signed the digital screen with the stylus and something that kind of resembled my name then handed the toy back to him in return for the parcel. He immediately started walking off in the direction of his van, apparently he’d used his word quota for the day.

Every time I receive a parcel and have to sign the hand held screen I’m reminded of the day I asked the postal contractor, not Mr Charisma who had been at my place twice that day, if I could play Mario Kart after I signed the screen. The look on the guy’s face was one of utter confusion, so much so I couldn’t figure out if he thought I was serious, or he’s just forgotten to breath. Either way I couldn’t ever risk putting that kind of stress on another postal worker.

With the parcel in my hand I used my left hand to pull the security door shut, I then locked it and shut the wooden door. Hearing the deadbolt lock itself into place I turned and walked back through the lounge room. I wasn’t consciously headed back to the officer but that was where I ended up.

I sat down at my desk, the box the dial had arrived in, and the dial, were still sitting on my desk. I picked up the box, it’s packaging shuffled noisily inside, and lightly dropped it on the floor beside the desk. Then in the place I’d just cleared I put the new parcel down and looked at it.

It was clearly a package that had come from America, I could tell by the stamps, but the address was printed on a sticker so I could not tell who it was from by the hand writing. I turned it over to see the return address, I’d been waiting on a package from American but it should have been bigger than the one I was holding.

To my surprise there was no return address on the package. I had no idea of the postal rules in the United States but In Australia a return address is required on all mail. It’s not enforced on small items and standard letters going locally but on parcels and especially items going overseas it wont be accepted by the post office without a return address. If America had the same rules then this parcel had some how managed to get across the Pacific Ocean without adhering to the rules.

The parcel wasn’t much bigger than an A4 package, in fact it looked a lot like an A4 envelope, only it was well padded and had a bulge in the centre. Feeling around it before I opened it I couldn’t tell what was inside other than it being a well padded package that was relatively rectangular in shape.

Despite not being addressed correctly I figured that the parcel had been scanned multiple times by airports and our Customs or border security so I wasn’t overly worried about opening it but I was definitely intrigued.

Grabbing the letter opener I pushed the shiny silver tip into the corner of the parcel and began to drag it across the top seal. Pushing my fingers inside the parcel I opened it up and looked inside.

Previous episode here.