We take the paper here at work.
The newspaper delivery man used to bring it straight up to the office and place it on the counter, barking out, “NoozePAYpuh!” before he walked back out.
His name was Joe. I liked him. He was out for several days one time and I worried so much that I called down to the loading docks at the paper and asked where he was. When I found out he was off for a few days because his mama died, I sent flowers.
I’ve never laid eyes on the new paper person and thus have no such attachment to him or her. All I know is that that person brings our paper and leaves it on the security desk downstairs.
Before I go any further with this, I want to make it perfectly clear that I am quite fond of the daytime security man here. However, he does not inspire in me any great feelings of security, being as how he’s not armed and he’ll let anybody in the building who wants to come in.
He will also let just anybody thumb through our paper before we pick it up.
Friends, I don’t like a pre-read paper. Because I don’t like a pre-read paper, if I buy a Sunday paper, if I happen to have guests in my home, I buy them one, too, just so we can all have a fresh newspaper to read.
The other day I came in and had to wait for my paper, of all things, because a gentleman was standing there reading it. I was very nice about it and all, but seriously? Who makes the person whose name is on the label wait for her own paper?
This morning I came in and slowed down at the desk to pick up the paper and the security man said, “Oh, let me just finish reading this and I’ll put it back together.”
Fortunately I had giant sunglasses on so he couldn’t see my eyebrows ascend into my hairline. I might should just start wearing them all the time.