Had to mail something today. An actual piece of paper in an envelope, with the proper postage affixed. There’s a mailbox a few blocks away, with a curbside box. There is a car at the box. There is a car behind the car at the box. There is a third car wanting to turn into the parking lot, blocked by the second car. There is me, behind the third car, blocking traffic a bit. This happens from time to time, but usually resolves itself quickly - unless some anti-social fiend has parked at the drop-off spot, and gone inside.

The situation does not resolve itself quickly.

After a few minutes the driver in the second car gives up, gets out of her car, drops the letter in the box, and moves off. The third car goes into the lot. The driver of the first car gets out of his car to go inside.

I honk. I give several quick taps of the horn and gesture towards the NO PARKING sign. The driver nods and heads towards the post office door. I repeat my auditory alerts with the same insistent gestures pointing at the sign. He nods and goes inside.

Sigh. I get out of my car and go to the box, only to find they’ve reconfigured it so you can’t drop off your mail from the sidewalk. I slip my letter in the slot on the other side when the driver of the first car emerges - quick trip, I guess - and I say:

“You can’t park here.” He waves and smiles and nods. “This is for curbside drop-off,” I say. He waves and smiles and nods. “Can you read this sign,” I say. He waves and smiles and nods.

That was my most significant non-household interaction today, aside from a chat with the lady representing the company that was coming by to pick up my snowblower for repairs. Free pickup and delivery within certain radius. The website had a picture of Minneapolis, broken into four quadrants. I made my request online and all was good, until she told me today there would be a $100 charge.

I said that’s ridiculous. She said, well, they’re in (city way to the north) so it’s out of their territory, and I said your website has a map of Minneapolis, suggesting you’re more local than you are. She said yes, well, they just hired a new driver. Okay right and so what? I thought. She said they had a driver going to Bloomington tomorrow, and they were charging that person $130, so some people are willing to pay.

“Ah, well, that’s closer - how about you cut the pickup fee in half since he’s already in the neighborhood?”

“No, I can’t do that.”

“Got it, you don’t want my business. Okay, thanks for the heads-up.”

The question is whether I would’ve said that if I hadn’t been IRRITATED BY HUMANITY just 15 minutes before.

Let’s see what unloved products are languishing in the Half-Price Baskets. The clearance items that will be sold no more at Lundsenbyerly’s. These were taken the week after Halloween.

		Muddy Bites: a brilliant idea, really. Everyone loves the chocolate layer at the bottom of the Drumstick. Why not treat that as the confectionary filet, and offer only that? Wasn’t enough, it seems. The similar chocolate wafers are on the way out, too.
		Nonni’s Bites, too. It’s a bad season for Bites.
		Odd. Why would they discontinue Prilosec? I can see why SEVERE Alka-Selzer didn’t sell; a chancy brand extension. If you’re going to go for something that treats EXTREME cold, you’ll want something in the Quil family.
		Very Expensive Dog Food. The website says the food is “traceable and ethically sourced,” two matters of significant importance to dogs.
		The amount of money people spend on this stuff never fails to amaze. Even at half price it seems like a shallow luxury. Then again, I don’t require Scalp Therapy.

It was a good day! Despite the peevishness. It just was.

One thousand seven hundred souls. The entirety of the "history" section on Wikipedia says: "Mapleton was platted at its current site in 1871 when the railroad was extended to that point." That's it.

Rode hard and put away wet, as they say.

The brick on the right is the only clue left to its original appearance. Which, I suspect, was better.

A solid small-town landmark:

I wonder how many people in town followed the events of the Great War. We think “horrors of the trenches” when we see 1915, but everyone had other things go on. The crops. Local politics. National issues. But they all fade away and we’re left with the BIG thing.

Looks like it’s yelling at the trees.

An odd mix of spiffed and decrepit.

Off-balance, too. But oddly endearing.

Not the usual style for a building with this purpose.

Those columns work so much better without the Buckaroo Revival. They give the building order and rhythm.

The whole block, for context.

Now there’s a building with presence.

Mysterious bricked-up window. If I were the Masons, I’d instruct the architects to include one bricked-up window in every new temple, and never tell anyone why.

So we have 1915, 1903, 1898. Slow steady growth.

Frequent patrons know this: it is impossible to underestimate the contribution the fraternal organizations made to small towns across the land.

Also impossible to underestimate the ruination of white-brick “classy” renovations inflicted on buildings in the 60s and thereafter.

The idea that the Buckaroo Revival awning and the faux stone . . . dear Lord someone go back in time and slap the pen out of the architect’s hand.

And while you’re at it, snap it in two.

The style of the day made it possible for people with no imagination and a tight budget to do something that was modern and up-to-date, but also utterly inert and nondescript.

When you compare it to the Masonic and IOOF structures, you have to ask again: what happened?

I mean, I know what happened, but I'm still impressed by the depth and breadth of the ideological takeover. These architects were doing God's work. If God was Corbu or Mies or Johnson. But I think even those guys might have yawned at this.

There you go. Motels await. See you around.