Yesterday when I went down to the mailbox (we have mailboxes for each apartment, they are small and unlocked inside the front hall of our building) I saw a package jutting out of our box. It looked seriously maimed, as if a vicious attack dog had gotten hold of it and ripped it apart with the force of fangs and saliva. I knew my parents were sending me a couple of books, and I knew this had to be the package, and my first thought was "did Customs do this?"
I knew the answer was no, because usually Customs at least makes an attempt to reaffix the package in some manner. When I got to the package, only one book was inside (there should have been two). I panicked a bit, because the book I was missing was the one I really needed. I looked on the floor, no book. Finally, I found it on top of the mailboxes. Phew.
I figure one of two things happened - either a nosey neighbor (and boy, do we have a few of those!) decided to forsake all pretense of common human decency in the ongoing investigation of the business of their neighbors OR the postman, in great frustration at delivering us packages all the livelong day, ripped it in two so the damn thing would fit in our small box. I'm going with the latter, because surely if it had been an irresponsible neighbor, the second book, or rather the whole package, would have ended up on the floor, like scores of other mail they sort through and have no use for. Either way, it disturbs me a bit, because if there had been a letter or some other paper in the package it would have gotten ripped, not to mention, it was open for all the world to see.
Not that I have anything to hide, mind you, and if it pleases someone to find out that my parents sent me Shakespeare then by god, enjoy your jollies. But from here on out, leave my shit alone, unless you want me to stand in the downstairs hallway in front of the elevator shaft and listen to me recite from Henry V all day. Because I will do it, and the whole building will hear it, and by god, they will like it.