Last night, I went to the post office to send out a short story. The do-it-yourself machine was refusing to dispense postage, so I had to wait in line. No big deal, as there was no line, and two cashiers were open. The only problem was that the first was occupied with a couple dozen packages for one customer, and the second was busy comparing keychains and stamp collections with another. I waited with growing impatience until, at length, they finished their conversation and the Chatty Cashier called me forward.
It is my general policy at the post office to speak as little as possible. I really don’t get along with the post office, and haven’t for years. But that’s another story. On this particular occasion, I decided to speak as little as possible for another reason: to keep the transaction on course. It succeeded till almost the very end, when her gaze happened to fall on the addressee line. “Oooh!” she said. “Is this a submission? Oh, you need some mojo!”
Now, I freely admit that I live a pretty sheltered life. I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. The only time I’ve ever heard the word “Mojo” before is in reference to an establishment of that name here in town. I must have looked pretty blank, because Chatty launched into several sentences’ worth of explanation, beginning with, “I have two writers who…” and ending with “…so do you want this job?”
“Um…it’s a submission,” I floundered.
“Well, do you want them to accept it?”
I couldn’t even come up with an answer to that one. How’s this? “No, I made a special trip to the post office, which I hate, after spending a week working on a writer’s resume and figuring out how to conform to the Chicago Manual of Style, and all because I don’t want them to accept it!”
Thankfully, I wasn’t required to be obnoxious. Chatty did some weird thing rubbing the envelope between her hands, making this weird noise, and then, thank Heavens, she dropped it in the box and allowed me to escape.
First thing this morning, I looked up the word “Mojo” on Wiki.
