Jean-Paul Pecqueur

I had waited all day for the mail. Just as I was leaving to teach a couple of classes, I was already running about 30 minutes late, I saw the mail-carrier turn the corner onto our block. I retreated into the apartment to await my delivery. But alas, the doorbell was not rung--there was no box of books. What I received instead was one of those yellow slips, ingenuously dated the previous day, instructing me to come to the post office to pick up my package. Not thinking, I rushed over to the post office, yellow slip in hand, and was not-so-promptly informed that my box was still with the carrier.