"There is a high count of things in my house that is under the use of simple batteries. Such as talking teddy bears, talking television remotes, and talking electrical knives. They would always run out after a small while. The batteries that are in my city are not as powerful as the ones outside the borders, I believe. If there are any working batteries you have, feel free to give them to me so I can compare them to the batteries that my city sells. I will make sure to pay you back with something expensive, useful, and good for the use of someone else."

That is what reads in the letter I sent to my pen pal that claims to live somewhere three states to my house. This is according to the return address I plan to give a postcard or a few more to when the holidays come around. For now, it is I who will do the receiving as I am expected to get a few batteries from my friend far away to where I am. I could ask him for some money to buy a ticket for a bus or even an airplane if I was at a point not considering where the other side would come in effect over cause.

I get back home after sending the letter away, knowing it might take long before he gets it, as some can let their PO Box get so wide open as to request under no sort of basis with only the reasoning of receiving any mail at all. But I suggest that my pen pal can be one of many to reject any upcoming packages that appear to be leaking from side to side. Will it be so fun for the mailing company to create and design see-through boxes in packaging to have a test of what is there as pure and what is there as delivering the foot of a rabbit to spread luck to whoever holds the box?

A day has passed and it is now on the complete minimum to expect a package back and the start of not pushing out time for both parties only to expect less. Not one person would want the most fragile of watches and have a sense of admiration for when the metal surrounding the face of the clock gathers in mint condition enough to sell it for the price it was made for, and have there be no question if someone has had it beforehand or has tampered with it. This would still be a worry if all mailing was done by walking, as it would be worse for the company once cars are found deadly and weapons for how synonymous with the harm of earth.

As I am reading in the papers who won the lottery instead of the two-thousand and one other who entered that comes with me cutting a raw steak to cook and eat to avoid the pain that is iron deficiency cackling at someone getting up for coffee, a suspicious sound of a truck pulls by my door, where I can hear it. I now peak over and see that it is the mail truck coming to the spot where I would park my car in, had it not been for the almost fatal crash, with the driver coming out of the other door making a shortcut, holding an envelope on his hand. I choose the option of letting the man free and enter the envelope to my box instead of giving him a scare by coming out of the door still holding my knife I used to cut my steak. It would then look like me wanting to deliver something.

Just as the mail truck drove away from the block, I go over and grab the envelope. Noticing a lack of bulges from the envelope that could be what would happen when stuffing batteries, or any small solid, not to be confused with a small salad, in a paper envelope, I open up the envelope to see a small index card that said nothing but "How many batteries?" in spotless calligraphy, and the return address. I could feel disappointed that it was not the batteries, but it was just a day. There can never be the expectation of something back right away when giving someone only a day, and a day was not going to a limit in any case that would be outside of mailing.

I grab the pen that was in my pocket, the newspaper had a nice crossword puzzle, and wrote on the back "12! 12! I need 12! Any battery to fit in the case of a remote will do just fine!" with enough exclamation points to give F. Scott a migraine. With my version of fine calligraphy to outdo the latter, I chase the mail truck in case it did not drive too far. A problem was trying to follow the track of where it went. There were a lot of roads it could have gone to. I offered someone a coffee-stained ten-dollar bill so I could take their bike. As I rode down the road hill, I laughed at how I gave the bike owner a ten-dollar bill with the strings of paper inside the bill ripped out, making the bill illegitimate. If he ever gets denied to how I can know about it, I will make me return the bike as my apology. It was quite fun knowing I did not lose a cent out of me.

Another day has passed after I delivered back my fair share of the index card to my pen pal, and another day off of my calendar before "International Hose Your Neighbor Day" comes. My hose is broken and is due for repair just the day after that, and my neighbor is starting to sound pretty angry, with proof of which coming from the letters he would put in my inbox, voicing his hatred for my late-night drum recitals. Our doors are not even that far. All he has to do is just slide the papers under my door and make yourself the mailman for a while.

All of a sudden, there comes another truck sound near my door. This time, much louder and more plural than singular. Peaking over like the day before, after discovering that there are indeed more trucks than I had thought of, there were dump trucks full of boxes. One of those dump trucks turned over and poured out its party of boxes to near my door. Mailmen followed suite by placing down stacks of boxes on top of what the dump trucks put out. I knew that if I was not going to step out instead of peeking out like windows were made for secrets, they were ought to make a box ziggurat, and it is only long before there would be wondering if there will be any liquids coming.

Coming out of the door, I halt everyone from placing more boxes and making more truck noises and said "Gentlemen, what is with the cardboard? Imagine how many trees were cut for this. Imagine how pink my lungs could be if they still stood." One of the dump workers stepped up and said "This is all part of your delivery, I believe this is for you" and handed me a paper that said "Dear Pen Pal, in your paper, you requested 12! batteries from me. The number of batteries I had for myself was Earth-to-Betelgeuse far from 12!, so I chipped in and told everyone where I lived to give me to you all batteries under the 12! limit. Good luck to your teddy bears!".

It was either my pen pal was that kind, or just being sarcastic for how I hurried him a bit. Now I must send him that postcard. Confused as to why the exclamation point was needed for the 12s in the letter, someone in the still crowd said: "Why did you ask for 12 factorial?". Before I could try and ask the random person what a "factorial" is, I remembered a word like that in my math textbook. I then bolted back inside my house to find the said textbook on the shelves of my neatly decorated wall selection. I flipped over pages and pages to head to the glossary. There, I went through many words like "equation", "equivalent", and "equestrian sports" to find "factorial". It read "Factorial - the solution to every positive integer multiplied together before a number in multiplication", which means that 12!, or 12 factorial, which uses an exclamation point to signify, is 12 times 11 times 10 and so on until 1, meaning that I asked for 479,001,600 batteries. Holy bovine.

It would already be too late in wanting to return all the batteries, and it would be too long to sell all the batteries. To fulfill why I wanted some batteries, I went out to grab a box of batteries and went back to my room with my teddy bear. I then opened the box to grab two batteries to use for the bear. It would go on for months to come. Ever since the day I mistakenly got 479,001,600 batteries instead of 12, which is a horrific change in value, I watched the teddy bear talk through the entire long journey, even if it felt like the day would never end, and it sure would not end for me, because it would take over one thousand years to even use one thousand batteries a day. Oh, the electricity.