Suicidal in Seattle

"Are you from Minnesota," the Post Office Sargeant asks, looking at the address on the package as he unpacks it for inspection.
"God, no!" I reply, smiling.
"Where are you from?"
"Those things in paper, those are glass..."
"So I'll be careful..."
"I'm from Seattle," I reply, smiling.
"Oh, Seattle," he looks down. "No, I won't say it..."
"What? Say what?"
"Is it true that there are more suicides in Seattle than anywhere else?"
I pause, smiling, looking into his eyes. "Yes, yes, I think that is true. The long winters and all..." I hold out my left arm, inside edge up, over the box. The arm I take great pains to hide. The arm I have only shown to David. His eyes widen as he sees the scars. "I seem to remember hearing that somewhere."
"Oh," he looks down, mortified, placing the items quickly back in the box, taping it closed.
"Have a great day!" I say, smiling, walking over to the cashier.

Sorry. Sometimes it is just really fun to fuck with someone's head.