Dear woman whose name I didn’t catch,

Thank you so much for your concern about my shipping needs.  Last month we found ourselves on a beautiful Saturday afternoon inside the same store that offers such services,  you over by the copy machine knocking out flyers for some event while I stood at the counter and spoke to the nice young lady who worked there.

I’m sorry I never shouted across the 25-foot divide to get more information about what you were doing.  We were both able to hear each other’s respective interactions with the employee, thus gleaning basic information, but I could have done more.  I could have done what you did and interjected my opinion about the prospects for your success.

When I was filling out the required form and the nice young lady started asking me questions so she could start making the label in the computer, I said that I was sending a gift to Mexico.  It was nearly my girlfriend’s birthday and because of customs rules the shipping lady had to ask things like what type of thing I was sending and its value.

I had not once thought about the prospect of the package arriving safely.  After all, I had just received one making the same exact trip in the opposite direction that included this season’s hottest fashion accessory:

But you, heroic you, heard the word “Mexico” and perked up.  You had to offer a warning, to save me from the grave mistake I was apparently about to make.

“You’ll never see it again!” you interjected from across the room.

“Uh, what?” I asked.

“Once it crosses the border, you’ll never see it again.  I’ve been through that before,” you clarified.

The shipping lady and I did the thing where a stranger tells you something and you laugh in agreement like, “Yeah, well, whatever.”  We finished up filling out the forms, I handed over some money and got back a receipt along with helpful instructions on how to track the package as it made its journey.

I had to walk past you to get out of the store, and you offered a final, “Good luck!” as I passed.  I think it was that last part that really did the trick.  You were single-handedly able to counteract the impossible prospect of the little box passing through the shipping system safely.

I went home and in the days that followed used the internet to check up on the little box.  It found its way across the United States to Chicago where it then flew across the mighty border to Mexico City.  From there it was in the hands of the Mexican postal system whose employee eventually looked at the address on the front, looked at the corresponding house in front of them, and walked to the front door.

They knocked.  A woman answered, smiled and said thank you.  The little box had persevered through all odds and fulfilled its destiny.

I hope your party was fun.