He was jittery. He paced about in his apartment counting the number of steps he took. 754...755...756. He knew he should stop walking. His legs were starting to ache. 757...758. He had been waiting for the envelope for two days. It had to come today, it just had to. He was sick of waiting. 759...760...
He was glad it was a Saturday, so he did not have to go to work. It also meant he could check the mail as soon as the postman delivered it. He had called to enquire on Thursday and they had assured him that he would definitely get the envelope by end of business on Friday. But he hadn't. Returning from work, he had opened the mailbox and it was empty. Frustrated, he had slammed the mailbox shut and punched it twice thereby scraping his knuckles and scaring away the nice old lady who lived two floors above who had also come to check the mail.
He had ranted and raved for a few minutes, then calmed down and called them again. He knew what he was going to say. He would ask to speak to the manager. He was done waiting. He wanted to know why he hadn't received the envelope and that if they didn't care about him then they should just say so. But he had reached a recorded voice which said that it was after business hours and that he should call later.
He had not slept well that night because of the nightmares. Nightmares in which he chased elusive envelopes over steep mountains and long flights of stairs and when he finally caught them and tore them open, they turned out to be empty. Since morning he had done little else other than pacing about nervously. The morning coffee had made the jitters even worse. 761...762...763...He was glad the postal department did not take Saturdays off. There was still hope. 764...765...
He saw the postman driving up in his little van and his heart leapt up. He raced downstairs, then back up again to grab the mailbox key and back down again. But the postman had gone into the building across. He cursed and snarled and muttered incoherently for another ten minutes about how he was entitled to receive his mail before those no-good-studio-renters who paid lesser rent than him. The postman came and stared at him suspiciously. He realized what an awful sight he must look. He tried to appear casual and inconspicuous but the postman kept checking over his shoulder while delivering the letters as if he expected to be attacked anytime.
As soon as the postman was done he ran to his mailbox. He had to hold the key with both hands to stop it from shaking. Yes!!, the envelope was there and he ripped it open. The movie dvds had arrived. It was going to be a good weekend.
