I clutched the packet to my chest as I pushed through the post office door. Mailing manuscripts to editors attending the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference always brings a sense of wild anticipation, not unlike the upward climb on a rickety roller coaster.
The postal clerk looked at me with tired eyes as I handed him my manila envelope.
"Does your package contain any..." He droned out a long list of objectionable items. Do people really try to mail that stuff? And do they admit it?
I smiled brightly. "No. Just hopes and dreams."
He frowned, my packet full of promise dangling from the tips of his fingers.
My smile faded. "No sir. Just paper. Really."
He dropped it onto the scale and turned to the computer monitor. The lines on his forehead suggested he needed either a cup of strong coffee or customers who could answer questions sensibly. "That'll be two-fifty."
I dug in my wallet, pondering the cost of that valuable lesson. Don't joke around with postal clerks. Especially before ten in the morning.
(Photo courtesy of Jonathan Chasteen).