Scottish Mail/Male

I asked my dad to mail me a package. In February.  That package was of some vitamin B12 that I thought I would be able to acquire here, but I can not.  There was also a Lululemon tank top.  Nothing perishable, nothing urgent.

My father is nothing if not one to follow instructions.  He heard that it needed to get here, but that there was no need to hire a courier.  So what does my dad do?  He digs deep in to his Scottish heritage and chooses to ship my package using surface mail.  Surface. Mail.

Canada Post, having offered this service, but not having anyone actually select it since they stopped using horses to deliver the mail (much like how Bell Canada offers touch tone service as an upgrade to rotary dial, but no one actually has rotary dial) now had a choice to make.  Do they just ship it over on the next plane like they would with every other package?

OH HELL NO!

Canada Post, as any good government entity would do, formed a committee.  They drafted up a terms of reference.  They argued about the membership of the committee and the Terms of Reference.  They formed a new committee.  They agreed to ship it over the surface of the earth.

So they ran a hiring competition.  The first round was unsuccessful.  Such a shame.  The correct person would need to be bilingual.  Back to the committee.  Sadly the meeting did not have quorum.  Competing priorities and all that.  Finally the competition was run, a candidate was selected.  Victory!  Only $500,000 spent so far.

Finally ready for it's voyage, the package was neatly tucked in to a pack and strapped to our successful candidate.  He dove in to the waters at Dow's Lake and made his way as directed by Google Maps.  He swam, he kayaked, he hung out on various beaches.

 Finally, today, having climbed the Great Dividing Range he arrived on my doorstep, dripping, a bit cold, a tiny bit exhausted and triumphantly handed me my tank top and bottles of B12.

Thanks Dad, next time remind me to ask Mom to ship stuff to me.