Monday, October 13, 2008

Going Postal

I hate the post office. Every time I have a day full of errands to run, the post office is inevitably involved. I always save it for last, thinking that it won't be as bad as I remember, but it is. And it's always worse. I'm writing this blog from the post office (I'll post it later), and I think I might actually be in hell. Here's why:
1. There is a crying baby. He alternates between crying and joyously pulling off and replacing his spiderman bandaid. I can see from 5 people back that there is pus on his finger. I find this disgusting, but the elderly woman filling out her hold mail form keeps playing with him. Clearly she is too old to see that there is an oozing, throbbing pustule on the boy's index finger. Blind Broad also doesn't seem to notice that the line in front of her is moving. This really bothers me, just like how it bothers me when people don't scoot their cars up all the way at an intersection. Even though the line is 10 miles long, I still would feel a lot better if she just moved up so the construction worker behind me would stop grunting at the weight of the box he is carrying. Every time I turn my head slightly to indicate that his overexertion is irritating me, I see his knees buckling and I worry he'll fall forward and kill me.
2. There is a mentally retarded asian teenager in the front of the line. I feel really bad for him because he's alone and quite helpless, but he's holding up the line! All boxes are supposed to be taped before they reach the counter. There's a large sign emphasizing this rule but of course no one has read it. No one wants to cross the teen, seeing as he has currently covered a large portion of his torso in priority mail tape. He is repeatedly scraping his forearms along the counter to try and remove it while simultaneously flinging his body in every cardinal direction.
3. Despite there being more people than the entire construction crews of every Extreme Makeover: Home Edition episode combined, there is only one employee working the counter. While there are 4 other visible employees in the back, I can't understand why one of them, clad head to toe in a muted, subtle fuschia, is walking down the line asking everyone what they're at the post office for. This doesn't help anyone. It only helps me think of more reasons why I want to scream.
4. There is an automated postal center for a reason. It means do it yourself, and it is in fact the most self explanatory machine ever. So why is there a man hovering over every person there asking them what zip code it is when the machine is already asking that? Why is he not behind the counter helping the woman who resembles Tess from Touched by an Angel?
5. Tess. She's moving at a glacial pace, which normally thrills me, but seriously, she could not possibly be more of a sloth. I understand that she doesn't want to be here any more than I do, but it's her job, and she has to do it. There is literally no more room left in the line and it is now going out the door.
6. There is a lovely Chinese couple in front of me speaking in loud, rapid Mandarin. It appears they're arguing over how to spell the word "jacket" on the Customs form that Fuschia Franny decreed they fill out. I don't know if it's them or Construction Carl behind me, but someone smells rank, and I'm not pleased. Tess from Touched by an Angel has just informed the woman that she must have her jacket in the box and taped by the time she reaches the counter. I'm only one person away from freedom, and the woman can't speak english, so she takes all of the stuff out of the box and places it on top of the box and smiles. I don't understand. Tess asked her if her box weighed over 4 pounds, which was a stupid question seeing as I'm pretty sure they use the Metric System or like jade stones to weigh stuff in China. Naturally, she doesn't understand this either, and I'm starting to feel sorry for her, so I just pop her stuff back in the box and hand her some tape. She almost snarls at me, which is nice to see when you help someone.

It's finally my turn, and NOW of all times, a new employee comes to help Tess. Wow, awesome. I'm never coming back here again, unless of course my time has come to leave this earth and Tess comes to take me home to Jesus.

1 comment:

jim Webb said...

Wow! I think you truly captured the essence of "postal purgatory"!

Well done.