Candygram...

It's package delivery season again.  I absolutely dread this time of year.  I think I am finally on good terms with UPS again.  It's been a few years now, and I am hoping that enough personnel rotation has happened that they no longer pass around the story about the time a very pregnant crazy lady stood in the middle of the street, in front of the oncoming UPS delivery truck.

It's a great story.  Not.

It was four years ago and we were expecting several packages during the week before Christmas - to the tune of 1 -2 a day, all week.  Most of the packages were coming from either family in Oklahoma or retailers.  One of the packages was some electronic equipment.  It escapes me now, what it was, but it was expensive and fragile - and we were anxious to receive it. 

I was 32 weeks pregnant, and Rylan was 18 months old and an afternoon napper.  UPS always shows up in the afternoon, which meant that I had to dash to the door each day before they made their customary banging on the door - no matter what kind of signage I left to please not use the bell or knock.  One day I threw open the door and crossed the front porch to meet the deliver guy at the front walkway.  I was not but three feet from him, but he chose to just toss the box down in front of my feet despite my cheerful "How are you?  I'll take that from you!".  Ass.  He didn't even look back.

So I made a phone call.  It was the fragile package we were anticipating and I was pretty angry that he just tossed it onto the pavement, in front of me.  Nothing was broken... but I was not about to let this little incident go. 

So, the next day, when delivery time came around again, this time there was a loud knock at the door.  I was back in the kitchen, and I had heard the familiar gear-shifting of the UPS truck, so I was already waddling my very pregnant self toward the door when he knocked.  I wasn't but 2 seconds behind, but he was already leaping into the truck when I opened the door and noticed my package left on a table next to my front door.  I brought the box in.  I got out a knife to start opening the box.  I placed a hand on top of the box to hold it as I started cutting, and when I pulled it away, 'something' was sticking too it.

Snot.

A lot of it.

That f**king delivery man hocked a disgustingly large loogie onto the top of my package in retribution for the earful he most likely got from his supervisor when he got in the night before.  And then the chickenshit ran to the truck.  Well.  No no no no no. This was going to stop.  Now.

So I rinsed my hand, grabbed a jacket, called Dean, and headed outside.  I got Dean on the line and explained what was happening.  I live on a large cul-de-sac, and I am the first stop on their route.  They would have to drive back by my house.  And when they did... we would have a 'chat'.

They started barreling towards my house to make their exit, and I walked into the middle of the street and held up my hand.  The driver (not the spitter) stopped.  I walked over to the door and let loose a tirade that would make sailor blush.  I did not appreciate his little 'present', and I told him so.  I walked away and made some more phone calls and took pictures to send to his supervisor as well.  And then washed my hands about 20 times and went through half a bottle of hand sanitizer. (and then lived in fear for a couple of weeks that he was going to come back and toss a brick through our front window...)

Needless to say, the driver personally made the package drop the next day.  Along with a new guy. 

My work was done. 

Word to the wise: Don't mess with a crazy pregnant lady.  Not ever.