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So, I needed to return the hilt of the broken fire sword to its maker.
I put it in a box at work, addressed it and brought it off to the post office.
The man there put it on the scale, and started asking me questions.
“Is it food?”
“No.”
“Is it liquid?”
“No.”
“Is it perishable?”
“No.”
“It is hazardous?”
“No.”
“Is it radioactive?”
“It’s the hilt of a broken sword.”
“It’s what?”
“It is the hilt of a broken sword.”
A pause occurred while he looked from the box to me.
“Is it a magic broken sword?”
“Do I look like Aragorn?”
Another pause.
“Where are you sending it?”
“Kansas to get it fixed.”
A man came out from the back.
“The sword that was broken will be forged again?” he asked.
They looked at each other and nodded.
“$9.30 to get it there by Tuesday,” the first one said.
I handed him a $10 bill.
“Good luck with the quest,” he said, handing the second one the box.
“Have a nice weekend,” I said and left.