The other day was package delivery day. It seems to be either the most amazing day, or the saddest. To my dismay, it was the saddest. I do not mean to sound spoiled, but it is like five year olds at summer camp. More like on Christmas Eve, since we do have a parent guarding the packages. All 70 of us swarm in on Tony, one of our trainers, demanding to know if we even get to partake in the receiving of gifts, promising him, “Oh Tony, we will not be distracted the rest of the day. We will pay attention to the session. No, the sugar won’t make us hyper.” Right. Does this sound familiar to any of you parents? The only difference between us and the five year olds is that we have to pay a handling fee. So, the ones that get the packages always have a grin from ear to ear.
To my surprise, today was another Parcel pickup day. I have to admit, I felt like a kid on Christmas. I found out that some packages had arrived, went to Tony, bugged him to give us the boxes until he caved, and tore open the box like there was no tomorrow. Looking inside, I jumped for joy to find whatever goodies my parents had decided to surprise me with. It is also amazing to see what thrills us now that we have been deprived for months. In the states, I did like starbursts and skittles, but here, I could not be more ecstatic to eat all of them at once, shoving them in my face as if I never tasted anything so delicious. Again, a kid at Christmas. After opening the box, everyone always parades around the rest of the day, carrying it, showing off, asking what everyone else got, and swapping a little here and there to get more of a variety. It was like the best day ever.
I feel bad for Tony. Now that he knows the Parcel days are so stressful for him, he hides out in his office more. He dreds these days, I know, because he seems to know that we act like five year olds when we find out there is some goody hidden away for us to grab. It is funny, the things that excite us.
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