The Homeowners Association

So the numbers fell off our mailbox a long time ago, and as per Home Owners Association AKA Crazy Neighbor Lady’s standards, we had to replace them ASAP.   Because clearly the mailman is a flaming idiot and can’t do his job without THE NUMBERS!!!!!!
So I went and got these precious numbers.  And let me tell you, they’re pretty darn special, so special in fact, they can’t be bought at the store.  They can only be purchased at the Home Owners Association office. 
Clearly I had a blast with this.
Let me tell you about the people at the Home Owners Association office.  For being the anal-retentive, rule sticklers that they are, they operate on a completely ridiculous schedule.  Never mind the posted office hours.  Every time I’ve ever gone down there, a note has been posted at the door advising something along the lines of, “Out for an hour to break in my new alligator boots,” or “Closed early due to impending rainbow.”  They’re NEVER there. 
I finally managed to catch them one day before they all left to go observe some butterfly cocooning and asked the first lady I saw where I needed to go in order to get replacement mailbox numbers.  She hadn’t the slightest idea.  I then asked her if I was in the right place and she assured me this was the Homeowners Association Office.  She scampered around the corner to ask one of the other equally worthless employees if they sold mailbox numbers and then came back and ushered me to follow her.
I finally got my hands on these elusive mailbox numbers, which run $2 a piece.  I only needed a number 4 and a number 3 so I only had a five-dollar bill on me.  When I presented them with this, they acted as if I’d just released a hoard of evil hummingbirds in the office. 
“Oh, we don’t have change for that…what are you trying to do? Singlehandedly destroy us?” 
“You don’t have a dollar bill? Or four quarters? Or ten dimes? Or any combination of these?  Yet you insist that we buy our mailbox numbers from you?”
I finally got my hands on my change after a few excruciating minutes of mental math and wallet scrounging on their part.
When I get home already in a chipper mood, I walk out front to the mail box to apply the numbers.  You’ll be shocked to find out that there was no sticky backing on them.  No tape included in their wrapping to attach them to the mailbox?  HOW, dearest Homeowners Association, DO YOU EXPECT ME TO STICK THEM TO MY MAILBOX?  BY WILLING THEM WITH MY THOUGHTS? That’s not how it works.
Weeks passed until I finally bought some superglue and decided to attempt to attach the numbers.  Buying and using superglue was probably the worst idea I’ve had in a decade.  I hate superglue.  It never sticks where I want it to stick.  It only ever adheres to the pads of my fingers or my clothes. 
Just so that I never have to deal with this again, I bathed all the other numbers in super glue as an added precaution.  If they fall off again, I’m just going to tear down the mailbox and be done with it.
I spent nearly 30 minutes trying to glue the numbers to the mailbox.  They wouldn’t lay flush against the metal and when I’d finally think I’d got them to stay, I’d realize I had actually just managed to glue my finger to the number and that the glue on the mailbox hadn’t set yet.  This went on FOR-EV-ER, and finally, after expending my allotted amount of curse words for the day, I accepted the fact that I’ll probably never have fingerprints again and managed to get the numbers to stay.
I hope you’re happy, HOA.  
Tags: Life of Late, Tallahassee

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Compulsive snacker. Bleeding heart. Unhealthy obsession with Tom Hanks and cats. Florida State and Syracuse University alum.
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  1. Reply

    This is so funny though Im sure it was the biggest pain!! Cute blog!!

  2. Reply

    I love going through your blog and reading ones that I have missed. You are so freaking funny!!

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