I’ve got a package I’m going to mail, so I’m preparing myself for the inevitable question from the postal clerk:
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Oops, sorry, wrong thing on the clipboard. Silly Macintosh! CTRL+C means copy that text.
Nadine, the postal clerk in the little cinderblock post office that serves my zip code, will actually ask:
Does this parcel contain anything fragile, liquid, perishable, or potentially hazardous?
Of course, I spend mental clock cycles coming up with smart alec responses:
- Potentially hazardous? If it’s caught in hurricane-force winds, it can go right through a tree.
- Perishable? In a millenium, it will be reduced to its component molecules. All except the bubble-wrap.
- Liquid? It’s $640,000,000 in negotiable bearer bonds!
- Fragile? Depends on how hard you hit it.
- It’s very flammable; it burns if you put it in a fire.
I’m lucky that Nadine has a good sense of humor. I’m also smart enough to never, ever joke with a government employee I’m not related to through blood and am on very good terms with. Because one quip could get you on a no-fly list or put on the ground, brotha.
When I see a physician and they ask me if I smoke, my answer is, “Only when I’m on fire.”
Technically speaking, doctors are not government employees yet.