so get this. At work on Friday, on my way with a client to get the video for the night, I stopped to mail a letter. It was an important letter, signed by the psychiatrist, so I opened the hatch to make sure it went in okay. I always doublecheck, being a bit of an obsessive even though the mail never gets stuck. Except this time, when it's an important letter, one that was a pain in the ass for me to get signed by the psychiatrist on official letterhead my boss keeps locked in her office. There it is, stuck, just inside the rim. Hold the hatch open just so and you can see it sittin' there. "Wish I had a stick, " I said to M. "Wish I had a pen."
No stick, no pen. But no worries, I can just reach right in there, brush it enough with a fingertip to knock it down. No problem. So I was doing that and it turns out it's not as easy as it looks. So I'm trying, reaching in a bit more, a bit more... "Shit." (oh no.) "Shit, this isn't funny."
(oh no.) "My...hand's stuck." (so this is how things like this happen to people)"Run, fast, back to El Rey, get the first staff you see..." M. didn't
let me down and Mary appeared after a long minute. "Do you want me to call the fire department?" "Yes!" My fingers were seriously jammed. Visions of fingerlessness. Of cut circulation while the blowtorches take their sweet time, followed by amputation. Damn! A few minutes later, the firetruck (didn't they have anything smaller??). The sirens. The crowd of my co-workers gathering. The digital cameras of strangers. The flashlights and strategizing. The crowbar pushing the hatch down a quarter inch for a quarter second. The relief. My fingers are still stiff at the joints, but they're working. My arm's a bit sore but it's working.

Lesson: Humility happens.

And don't mail yourself. If the Velvet Underground taught us anything it's "don't mail yourself."