Gone Postal

I woke up with super human strength.
On my first day as an vagrant I was slated to help Nathan (my travel partner) send some of his books to New England for safe keeping.  He left me with a very unwieldy box-full on his way to work.
I transported the books from the front seat of my car to my brother's house and plopped it onto a scale to make sure the Post Office would accept it.  NO.  They do not let you send 97 pound boxes. And... where is a safety officer when you need one?  I could have thrown my back out!  I was incredibly impressed with myself for about fifteen minutes.  The lady behind the counter at the PO at Fort Lewis-McChord brought me back down to earth when she insisted I open the four boxes I was sending to prove that they all qualified as 'media'.  Before driving onto base, my brother Luis set one ground rule:  1. Don't do anything stupid.  I was doing really well until the box opening ceremony revealed a WWII military issue knife (not media), and a couple decks of Tarot cards (credibility killers).  Needless to say, only three boxes went out and there were some fairly grumpy faced postal workers.