I’m madder than that dumb dolphin that made a wrong turn at Albuquerque and ended up dying in the Gowanus Canal over the fact that neither rain nor snow nor gloom of night will keep me from going to the post office to get a new passport for my latest cross-country trip, but I can’t get inside because the only way to get in is via handicapped-people-hating stairs!
Look, you all know the ol’Screecher has been riding around on his trusty steed for more years than he can count, and during that time I have been unable to leave the country — or check out the latest FBI most-wanted list — because none of the post offices near my house are Tornado accessible!
In fact, the last time I was able to break out of America was in 1994 — the year my last passport expired — for a great trip to my Italian motherland that I’ve dreamt about since that cold and wet December day when we touched the ground at JFK!
But now, with a plan to visit Florida, I figured it was time to get a new passport just in case I end up taking a ferry to the Bahamas, or, more likely, Cuba. Look, you have to take advantage of these opportunities when they arise. If there’s one thing the Screecher has learned in his live, it is that!
Anyways, I made the necessary appointments to get tagged by the government like some kind of endangered species, and headed over to the Dyker Heights branch, which is my second favorite next to the Blythebourne one. But when I got there, Tornado and I were stopped in our tracks by the one six-inch step at the entrance that halted us from making our appointed rounds!
Now, I know exactly what you are thinking: “Carmine, why the heck didn’t you just pop a wheely and cruise right in?” The answer dear reader is simple — physics. When it comes to riding Tornado, label me “Fragile,” and “This end up!” And Tornado gets a bit testy when all three wheels aren’t on the ground. I wasn’t about to risk falling over when I knew full well that every post office is required by the highest law in the land to give me full access whenever I need it!
And that’s exactly what I told the manager when she came out to see what the fuss was all about.
That’s right, I made a fuss, as is my wont.
Turns out, she was nice enough. She had my lovely wife Sharon go inside with all the necessary paperwork and — more importantly — checks for almost 400 of my hard-earned dollars (I don’t have direct deposit), while I waited outside munching on a dynamic sandwich I got at this week’s shameless plug, Theresa’s Home Cooking at 8303 13th Avenue between 82nd and 83rd street. It had mozzarella, peppers, chicken cutlet, lettuce, tomatoes, and oil and vinegar to wash it down. All stuffed inside a delicious roll that would have knocked my aunt Connie’s socks off! Kudos to the staff there, Colleen, Anthony, Toni, and Gabby for all their help while we waited.
The whole thing took about an hour, in which time I was able to down the sandwich al fresco on the first beautiful, sun-drenched day of the year.
Thankfully, it was quite balmy out, and that saved us from the latest first-class hell that is Access-A-Ride. We finished earlier than expected and we called to get an bus before 3:16 pm. For the next four hours, I had to call Access-A-Ride every 15 minutes to be told each time to call back in 15 minutes. And each time I called, I was told the bus would be there in 1 minute! Lies!
In fact, the bus never came, and my poor wife Sharon and had to split up, with here taking a cab I couldn’t fit in, and me hopping on the B64 that drops me off right in front of my house.
Now for this week’s Screecher Senior Tip on How to Live Forever.
I heard on the Eyewitness News that drinking lots of chamomile tea is the secret way to avoid thyroid cancer. So I quickly headed out to buy as much of this miracle cure as I could get my hands on.
As you are reading this, dear reader, I am sitting back enjoying my third glass of the day.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom
Screech at you next week!
