8. Return an empty DVD case.


It’s errand day. You woke up, the sun was shining, you looked in the mirror, and said “I’m going to get things done today!” And so far, you have. You went to the bank. You went to the post office. You stopped by the library to pick up the latest Harry Potter book. You left the library upon finding out that you’re grossly behind the times. You went to the hardware store. You bought some ferret food. You returned some ill-fitting pants. And you finally got around to purchasing that medication your doctor said you “need or certain death is imminent.” You’re so productive!

Only one thing left on the list. A quick stop at Blockbuster or Hollywood Video or Mr. Fantasticum’s Cinemadventure Emporium. You’ve got the case right there. It’s riding shotgun, like a perky little puppy with the face of Jessica Alba, or like a tired old whore whose nausea at the thought of the endless cycle of being passed from house to house is quelled only by the promise of a few sweet hours of rest in the return box.

You arrive at the store, exit the car, and drop the case into the slot. You even give a jaunty little wave to the poor unfortunate souls working inside. Enjoy your dead-end career! you mouth. They wave back. You’re so popular!

As you return home, filled with glee over the efficiency of your day’s plans, you turn the key in the lock and open the door. Suddenly, a beam of light hits you square in eyes. What could possibly be the source of such a blinding glare? You squint into the distance, feeling your way towards the coffee table, which alerts you to its presence with a sharp jab to the shin. You look down, and your heart drops.

It’s the DVD. The very same DVD you thought you just returned!

But how could this have happened? You returned the case! There’s no way the DVD couldn’t have been in it! That’s against science!

You curse the heavens, heaving a giant sigh that most likely ends in some sort of expletive. Your whole groove has been thrown. Now you have to go back outside, flee your neighbor’s bloodthirsty dog all over again, get into your car, and drive all the way back to Mr. Fantasticum. The day is ruined.

You slump into the store, handling the naked DVD as carefully as you can, as the ride over was not kind to its exposed surface. You probably shouldn’t have put it atop that pile of nails you just bought at the hardware store. You approach the counter and mumble something in the direction of the kid’s face, which you can barely make out for all the acne smeared over it. “WHAT?” he yells back. In lieu of a verbal explanation, which would require you to admit, out loud, that you paid real American currency to obtain a copy of Good Luck Chuck, you simply hold up the DVD. Then, in order to avoid any ambiguity, you point at it.

The kid rolls his eyes and begins the intricate rigmarole of finding the case, checking the movie back into the stock, and making sure you don’t get charged any late fees, all of which will require your name and the name of the movie to be shouted across the store no less than seven times. You leave shattered, dejected, and humiliated. You may not get out of bed tomorrow.

So if you want to suck, return an empty DVD case. You should really just spring for Netflix, but you’re now paranoid about the possibility of mailing an empty sleeve. And that’s a mess you don’t want to clean up. The Postmaster General is not known for his benevolence.


1 Comment »

  1. HAHAHA- Your site cracks me up. I had to comment after this one. I must be an ultimate sucker of life because I’ve done this many times before. 🙂

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