I think the postman meant to tell me “sorry for your wait.” It had been an uncomfortable 15 minutes in masks, behind a short but needy line of grandmothers looking for a professional packaging service, sorority girls looking for Cancun passports, and coughing unmasked assholes looking for lost mail.

At the same time, as what was probably the last substantive line in that office before the weekend, he clearly meant to say “have a nice weekend.” Another kind, if automatic, sentiment from behind the tall pressboard desk.

It came out, though, as “Sorry for your nice weekend.”

I briefly considered responding with “Thanks, you too!” just to compound the absurdity. But, trying to be more considerate than the people in front of me had been, I simply said “Thanks!”

For the rest of the drive home, though, I was attempting to mash together automatic pleasantries into something fun and chaotic.

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