"i didn't ought to have went."

I have no idea what was running through Robert Benchley's mind back in 1925 when he wrote the sentence immortalized in my subject header, but let me take a stab at it anyway.

1) If Golden Corral had existed, he may have been referring to that ubiquitous third trip through the buffet line. However, the advent of Alka Seltzer around the same time would most likely preclude any proclamation of gustatory guilt. [Note to readers: Start at the end of the chow line and work your way forward, as buffets are notorious for front-loading with leafy green vegetables, pudding and such so that you don't have any room for the roast beef au jus, Manwich, or what have you.]

2) Benchley could possibly be admonishing one specific trip to the Algonquin the night before a particularly important editorial deadline. But seeing as I know a little something about neither bars nor deadlines, I cannot suppose.3) Dorothy Parker, long noted as an insufferable companion -- and a sufferer, could prove to be a likely source for the above-mentioned quote for she was known to be a steadily bad influence on the writer. "Tontant Dwinker," I believe is the acronym.

4) A trip to anywhere in New Jersey. Enough said.

5) My final guess would have to include something to do with the workplace. Oh, how Benchley hated toiling in the confines of an office, as do most proletariats. But seeing as our present occupations enable our spouses to live in the manner to which they have become accustomed, work has become a necessary evil. Although, the thought of abruptly quitting to go live off of the free salad bar at Golden Corral can't be altogether discarded.

mail carrier's tabernacle of the divine serendipity

I made my annual pilgrimage to the Northeast Station Post Office at 900 Blackson this afternoon -- a sort of Hajj, if you will seeing as I normally like to avoid the lines, lay back and enjoy my taxpayer-subsidized delivery service. However, in this case I was summoned to pick up a package that would neither fit in my mailbox, nor be safely placed on the front porch away from prying eyes and pedophiles.

I had ordered a Calvin Klein tuxedo online against the wishes of co-workers and soothsayers alike. But, my inner muse directed me to throw caution to the wind, and hit the submit button so that the suit would arrive well in time before the HRC Gala dinner in mid-March. Hence, the above mentioned trip to the post office five days after the fact.I walked inside and was greeted by a line of 20 people in various stages of exasperation (not to be confused with perspiration, mind you as this was an extremely clean crowd based on attire alone.)
Normally, I am not one to grouse about such things as the price of tea in Mexico, or the high ratio of customers to employees. But, I'd like to make an exception this time around. Where were my federal workers?

To compound matters, a cd player behind the counter was blasting what could best be described as a compilation of the Greatest Church Tent Revivals Hymns of 1987, forcing me to consider looking for funeral home fans in the back of the pews alongside the self-adhesive stamps and Priority Mail envelopes.Didn't separation of church and state specifically prohibit this type of proselytizing on government property? I was ready to speak in tongues, none too friendly.The lady next to me was obviously of the same agnostic mindset as we both smiled knowingly at each other and bobbed our head in time to the rhythmic chants of "praise him, praise him."A man's voice boomed from the speakers... "raise your hand if you are here to worship Jesus!"

Not surprisingly, everyone stood still in sheepish silence. Perhaps he should have asked if anyone was just there to pick up a package.