GOING POSTAL

If you know me even in the slightest, you’d most likely assume that title would have something to do with me finally completely losing my shit.

But quite the opposite.

Not only did I not lose my shit…I actually took a very mature step in looking out for it’s safety and the delicate preservation for the mostly quiet, quaint, and hidden neighborhood in which it resides!

To get straight to the point- approximately seven to eight weeks ago…

I mailed my poo via the U.S. Postal Service.

Not a whole daily batch of it- but rather just a very tiny scrape off the top.

Don’t worry. This wasn’t an act of aggression or revenge toward another disappointing male fling- but rather a direct request from my somehow still existing- Obama Care- free health insurance- UCLA Hospital- assigned doctor! Which I am more than extremely grateful for. Without it, I’d be forced to get yet another minimum wage part-time job in order to pay for the absolutely ridiculous price of middle age healthcare.

But back to the somewhat disgusting required task at hand.

Although nobody wants to let their fingers wander anywhere close to a fresh feces occupied toilet bowl, to my surprise, the request was much simpler than I would have expected. Just a few simple quick steps added to the otherwise normal daily routine.

Poo. Scrape with a tiny doctor provided plastic cocktail drink sword resembling wand, seal tightly inside the hospital provided envelope with said specimen, and place in my local street corner big blue mailbox. I know- “Who still uses those grungy street postal boxes?”

You may be asking yourself “Does Jen not have mail service at her place of residence?”

I do- BUT- I’m guessing because of a long list of requirements from the law and state required bio safety hazards – my doctor provided me with an official envelope which boldly stated in large letters that there was a BODILY MATTER enclosed and therefore should not be opened by anyone other than a professional. Add to that the fact that even though I have not yet encountered my local mailman in this new building I moved into over a year and a half ago- I still do not want to feel the possible humiliation of him knowing I just spent my morning carefully wrapping up my fresh poo for delivery.

I’ll choose the anonymous, overly graffitied, grungy, L.A. county blue box please.

To be honest- I felt so insecure about the transaction, I got very close to just driving the distance to drop it straight into the medical building’s postal area out of fear of it getting lost and my return address being on the outside!

Now thinking back while I write this, I realize- They didn’t even bother to pay the extra postage for EXPRESS DELIVERY on the provided envelope.

Just a lonely snippet of an unsuspecting, kidnapped, defecate remains, traveling the normal two-to-three-day postal route. Slowly rotting thru the L.A. sun in a ventless padded envelope.

Is there any other life-threatening cancer/ disease that is evaluated via mail delivery?

It also makes me wonder, how many people a day in the world are crapping for a check-up?

And how far away are we technologically from just putting that specimen right on the iPhone screen for an instant biopsy?

Considering a good majority of humans take their phones to the toilet with them already, the process is most likely already in the making.

I love moments like these, because although the request for a cancer inspection can cause most of us to drift into a spiral of fear for the pending outcome, life still seems to find a way to toss some humor into the mostly awkward and always uncomfortable experience.

Also- kudos to the postal workers. Until now, I was very ignorant to all the SHIT they had to deal with.

Hahhahahaahahaha! I love a good dad joke/ pun