Why I can never work for FedEx

I can’t stand boxes. Not all boxes, just unopened ones that I don’t know what is inside of. This has always been a problem in my life. I don’t mean “Oh, look, a box, I wonder what is inside” which is how most people react, if they have any reaction at all. I mean, if there is a box in my house, unopened, unlabeled and I am unsure of what it contains, I will actually lose sleep over it.

I have always had this problem. I think it is why I hate surprises. Or a symptom of hating surprises. Is hating surprises a disorder? If it is, I totally have that shit. People treat it like a disease. “What do you mean you hate surprises and boxes? Oh, you just mean it is frustrating. Haha, I know how you feel. It’s makes you crazy having to wait. It is so much fun!” This is the same way people tell me how much fun roller coasters are, to which I have the same reaction. I have to repress punching them in the face.

That happens a lot. Repressing that urge. Not the actual punching. I have never actually punched anyone in the face. Except for that crackhead that wandered into my house. And that is because I thought she was a zombie. I’m not sure what it says about me that when I came out of my laundry room to find a malnourished woman mumbling to herself and foaming at the mouth, and my first reaction when she leaps to attack in a psychotic rage is to think “Shit! Zombie!” and start running zombie defense techniques through my head. Though it is good to find out reading The Zombie Survival Guide somehow will pay off if when the zombocolypse does happen. I recommend picking up a copy.

Most of this has nothing to do with why I can’t work at FedEx. It is because I obsess over what can be in the box based on size, weight and shaking. Then I start thinking over and over “What’s in the box” until it escalates to me reenacting that scene from Seven, where Brad Pitt is like “What’s in the box?!” and I laugh while nobody gets the reference and thinks I’m a crazy person, so I feel the need to explain the reference, which you totally can’t do effectively without spoiling the ending of the movie.

So that is why I can’t work for FedEx. I would go mad with box shaking curiosity and the need to open other people’s packages while attempting to explain a movie reference without spoiling the ending of the movie which just cannot be done effectively or without appearing to be insane. It is also why Christmas and my birthday turn me into an unstable wreck . So I guess it is good that my birthday is on Christmas eve, so I can get all the crazy out at once. And now I want to explain the ending of Seven on this blog. So please go watch that movie, because this is going to bug me.


2 thoughts on “Why I can never work for FedEx

  1. My three reactions to this post:
    1) DUDE! Why would you put this up on the internet? Some crazy-ass freakshow stalker is going to use this information against you one day and you will rue this post as you sit in a creepy warehouse full of boxes of all shapes, sizes, and wrappings! Holy cow, didn’t anyone teach you about internet safety??;
    2) You may have been a cat in your last life;
    3) Speaking of cats, perhaps Schroedinger’s put the fear of boxes into you. I know I wouldn’t want to open a box and potentially find a dead cat. It would make me cry. And now I’m going to have boxes of dead cats delivered to my door by crazy-ass freakshow stalkers because I just confessed this on the internet. And also because of “What’s in the box?” and stupid Brad Pitt.
    Look what a bad influence you are!
    OH, I just came up with a 4th:
    4) I also hate surprises (cuz I”m a control freak and obviously you cannot control surprises…because they’re surprising) and roller coasters. So I’m with ya there.

    Pretty much not sincerely (except about the surprises and roller coasters. And crying over dead cats),
    Erica, Lawsbian.

    P.S. For extra fun and insanity, see if you can find the “What’s in the box” song from Raggedy Ann and Andy.

  2. Ugh – yes! I know this feeling. My doc says it’s my OCPD (Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder). Once I get on a train of thought – I can’t get off until the ride is over. Which is actually horrible for my poor husband because I’m always guessing the endings of movies and TV shows, obsessively reading a book or playing a game with every spare moment, and he has the hardest time surprising me with anything. I can’t help myself. I like surprises, but I think that’s because I never really get to have them.

    I could never work for FedEx either – I’d open all the boxes. I have a hard enough time not opening neighbor’s boxes when I see them outside of the door.

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