It's Peru, Baby.

I never fail to become totally infuriated at the post office, and today was no exception. I have a massive grudge against SerPost Peru since they soaked a batch of about 20 postcards I sent out, rendering them virtually impossible to read. That’s according to the reports I received from England, Canada, and Japan – so I can be certain it happened in Peru, if I had had any doubts. It was ridiculously expensive to post them, and I am sure some never even reached their final destination. Anyway, today as I was jostled about in the queue for the only open counter I was twice queue jumped by little old ladies (it’s the same the world over). I was repeatedly hassled by little urchin beggars, and was finally losing my temper with an old bugger who, upon spying my blond hair, had made a special stop in the post office to incessantly whinge at me for money. Don’t get me wrong – I would cut out my heart with a spoon if it would help ease these people’s poverty, but I can’t understand why they are allowed to beg aggressively inside government buildings as their hapless victims wait in line. Besides, I doubt he had change for a 20, and neither did I. “Where are you from?” came a voice from behind. I turned around to a man grasping a package addressed to Spain. “England.” I replied politely. “Ahh. This is Peru.” he said. Oh thank you, Señor Peru! Should the name of the country in which I presently reside ever slip my mind, I hope you will be there for me once more with your wonderful words of wisdom. Maybe then I will give you the knuckle sandwich you so desperately deserve.