thanksgiving for michael (m)

My nephew Michael, the notoriously picky eater, is teaching English in China for one year.  It's been 3 months since he left home and he's doing well.  He's been getting great reviews on his teaching, has made several nice friends,  climbed the Great Wall of China, gone bungee jumping and has expanded his limited food repertoire to include pan fried dumplings.

I wanted to send him a package for Thanksgiving.  I called his parents and asked what they thought Michael would like.  "Food," they said.  "He's craving French Onion Sunchips, Ginger cookies and Kraft Microwaveable Macaroni 'n Cheese."

I bought the items and brought them to my local post office in my upscale town.  Big mistake.

First, I arrived with the items in those see-through plastic shopping bags.  Then, I asked the woman behind the counter what size box to get.  She makes me pour the items out on the counter so she can assess the box size needed.  Meanwhile, a few of the Tory Burch-clad residents of the town are lining up behind me.  One woman has the nerve to ask "to whom" am I sending "those items" and when I responded "my nephew in China" she asked if it were a private joke between us.  I wanted to tell her to shove her Burberry umbrella up her butt.

Then, Joe--my favorite postal worker-- comes off lunch break and tells me to swing over to his station.  Joe is from my blue-collar home town.  He looks a little like Andy Griffith's deputy sheriff, Barney.  Joe folds the box and tapes the sides.  We stuff the Sunchips and containers of mac 'n cheese in the box and cookies on top.  Then we do the bubble wrap.  Joe tells me it will cost more to ship the package than the items are worth. "What'dya pay?  I'm guessing $15 bucks for this stuff?  Gonna cost ya a fortune to ship this.  You really think it's worth it?  Can't the kid get this stuff there? Or wait until he gets home next August?"

I tell Joe this is worth it to me and to my nephew and to please hurry and finish taping the thing (before anyone I know comes in).

Joe sighs and puts the box on the scale.  It weighs over 4 pounds.  Joe looks up and shakes his head.  "It's over 4 pounds.  You know what that means?  You have to fill out a customs form.  You still think it's worth it?"

I'm feeling my blood pressure go up.  What business is this of anyone's?

I fill out the customs form and realize I don't know the name of the town because my sister-in-law gave me pre-printed labels but they are in Chinese characters.  What a flippin' ordeal this turned out to be.  Even I'm losing heart at this point.  I have to call my brother to find out the name of the town.  I look up at the clock and realize I've been in the Post Office for 45 minutes already.  My brother is not home.  Ugh.  Joe tells me the Customs Office may not accept it if there's no town in English (even though it's a legitimate address in Chinese).

Joe senses my weakening resolve.  "So, what's it going to be?  Are we shipping this stuff or not?"

And then I think of the whole reason why I'm doing this in the first place.  My nephew is having a food craving.

I can relate to that.

We ship the box.  $34.  It should arrive just in time for Thanksgiving.