How Many Engineers Does It Take To Send A Postcard

Italians should live longer. After dining in the company cafeteria we took a long stroll across old downtown Saronno to a favorite cafferia. The weather was perfect: mid 20s, only a little haze above, a breeze here and there. Office workers and old folks and students were all out and about, strolling, sitting on benches, making a space for life in the middle of the day. A habit we should all get into but somehow, of course, we don’t. Not enough measurable value added.

On the way we went to a tobacconist for postage stamps. They had none of the type for sending postcards to the U.S. Not a place for American tourists. We stopped at another tobacconist. They too had none of the type for sending postcards to the U.S. After coffee, we continued further along to yet a third shop, with the idea that the next stop after that would be the train station. They at least should have them. But the third time was the charm. €4.80 to send five postcards, over a dollar apiece. The lady let me use her sponge.

I dropped them in the red box outside. I figure they’ll probably get home before I do.

Yesterday morning we came down from Montesolaro in a black Mercedes van, the driver in suit and tie. But it was just the company’s usual taxi. Maybe he had important people to get later. Never mind the bulge under his arm, the black wire behind his ear.

This green arrow points to my bedroom this week.

Yesterday afternoon I went down into Milano to get a replacement AmEx card. Despite the heat everyone was in a coat or sweater. I took the train, took the metro, walked a few kilometers at least. The AmEx office was a few blocks round behind the Duomo, its vast plaza full of people and pigeons. Back near the train station I strolled around Castello Sforzesco, all ancient brick walls and tourists. If I were a born journalist rather than a born layabout I might say a thing or two about these perambulations but suffice it to say, I’m not sorry I had to go down into town. I’m a California boy, raised on cars and long wide roads, so I love to walk for blocks and blocks, and to ride in trains. I also love to surround myself with self-absorbed urban crowds. Do I love cities? Or do I just love to visit them?

Last night I got email from Delta Airlines. My wallet was found on the airplane. In Paris. Since they don’t use the 767 to fly from Milan to Paris, this means it had gone to the States and then back to France. This in turn suggests they clean airplanes much better in France than they do in Italy or the United States. This also means I’ll get my driver’s license back and can rent a car if I want to.

If I do, maybe they’ll give me a Smart car. Those things are awesome. Though I’m told it can get a little uncomfortable when a great big truck comes to a stop twenty centimeters behind your head. Of course, there is a worse alternative.

So how many engineers does it take to send a postcard? Well, there were five of us, and I sent five postcards. So I guess that means one.

I was kidding about the bulge and the black wire.