A thought-by-thought account of The Case of the Chocolate Coin Pips

28. I’m so bad at e-mail, it’s ridiculous. Today I e-mailed my friend Steve in response to an e-mail he sent exactly ONE YEAR AGO. I swear I’ll get better at it someday, but I’m too much of a perfectionist to send any trite prose, so sometimes I send nothing at all.

I should get the mail.

I get the mail.

Is that a package?

It is a package. Packages are usually for me, but it might be for my mom, cuz I’m not expecting anything.

I pick up the package and read the label.

No, it’s for me.

Hm. This seems to be a sock-mailing package. Or possibly a doll (voodoo or otherwise). Maybe it’s from my friend Moofruot.

Huh. That’s odd, there’s no return address. Should I open it?

I shake it.

It sounds like it might have been a glass that broke before delivery. But who would send me a glass?

It might have a bomb in it. It would be silly to open it.

Maybe I should get my mom to open it.

No, wait, that’s even worse.

There’s no return address. I can’t figure out where it’s from.

I’m just going to open it.

I open it, eyes squeezed shut.

I didn’t explode. Huh, that’s unfortunate.

I look into the package.

Is that… are those chocolate coins?

It’s a joke! It’s probably a joke about my Duke stipend.

There’s a note.

It says: “Dear Mr. Mariscal, Here is your FALL 2008 award. Don’t spend it all in one place. Best wishes, Duke Uni.”

It’s a joke. But is it a joke for me or on me?

Who would send a package like this? Who uses the word “Uni?”

It could be… no, they wouldn’t send that. Maybe it’s good natured jest from Duke?

I study the package carefully.

85202. The zip code is 85202. Sounds like it’s nearby. I’ll text Google.

I text Google.

“Mesa, Ariz.”

Whoa. I know exactly two people in Arizona and one of them doesn’t know my address. ((This thought is incorrect, I actually know three.))

Or does she…?

No, no, it’s definitely Moira. I better look at the handwriting.

Huh. She doesn’t write in all caps…

I look at the note.

The note’s not written in all caps. And that’s a lot like her loopy signature. And look at the trademark M’s.

It’s her. I can eat these coins now.

No, wait, I better wait until she confirms it’s her… just in case these are poisonous.

I text her.

“:)”

It’s her.

I text back.

“I’m glad you like it. I hope it didnt melt.”

Okay, it really is her. I can eat them now

… or can I?

I can. I do.

update:

“I figure youd get it right away from the zipcode so didnt bother to disguise my handwriting on the post it. Also under the label with ur name it says j valadez.”

Oh. Damn.

updated update: Why are there so many buffalo nickels and JFK fifty cent pieces? And the work to taste ratio just isn’t working in their favor. I think these are more novelty gifts than viable capitalistic snacks.

28. I’m so bad at e-mail, it’s ridiculous. Today I e-mailed my friend Steve in response to an e-mail he sent exactly ONE YEAR AGO. I swear I’ll get better at it someday, but I’m too much of a perfectionist to send any trite prose, so sometimes I send nothing at all. I should get…