I’ve written a lot here about my displeasures with the United States Postal Service, and this rant will be no different. I’m just going to cut straight to the chase. Today I had to make a stop at the Post Office to mail something to a friend, this is my story.
This trip begins much the same as any other. A 15-deep line full of old people who have nothing else to do at 5:45 PM on a Tuesday, with a slight smattering of deer-in-a-headlight looking people who look like they just realized they were in a post office and forgot why they were there. I stroll in, grab myself a box, fold it, toss the contents inside said box, seal, address, line, boom.
My ears immediately tune-in to the second teller, a tall, reluctantly-aging, bearded hipster who settled into being a postal worker because his mom said working for the government is the easiest way to earn a guaranteed paycheck and not work on having an actual career or skills of his own. He asks the woman at his window if she “would like any stamps this evening”, to which she replies “I don’t know”. She didn’t know. She seriously didn’t fucking know if she needed stamps. She probably thought she was ordering Taco Bell for all I know. He chides back “well ma’am, if you don’t know, then you probably don’t need any stamps”. This guy was on his game.
While this is going on, I also key-in to the couple at the third window. The gentleman customer looks like an overly-enthusiastic middle school gym teacher accompanied by his leather-skinned wife with a New Jersey accent and Fran Drescher laugh. I’m instantly transported to my own personal version of hell on Earth. I look at my watch, 3 minutes have passed. 1 customer has been served (literally and figuratively).
I watch in agony as each customer is served painfully slower than the last. The gym-teacher and his wife are still at the same window after 10 minutes now. Their postal servant carefully places each of their 3 boxes on the scale, and every time he or the customer has something to say, he quite literally drops everything he is doing to politely and thoughtfully address each inane fucking thing each of them banter back and forth about.
15 minutes pass. I’m finally 4th in line! My stress level begins to rise, I incessantly check my phone as if to briefly transport myself away from the stupidity flooding the room around me. I fart, and it begins to fill the air, like the way the smell of a fart builds under a bed sheet (I’m not that great at metaphors). I calmly stare at inanimate objects around the post office, as if I am formulating a really important plan, while my methane gas dissipates. As soon as I think I had gotten away with it, I suddenly realize I am in line with about a dozen of people who list ‘prunes’ as their favorite food and my nostril is invaded by a smell that I can only describe as rotting flesh and dog breath combined. I learned my lesson not to get into a farting war with octogenarians who have nothing else to do all day.
25 minutes pass, I am next in line. The gym teacher and his wife are stillllllll at the third window, somehow. It truly is one of life’s greatest mysteries as to how it takes some people so long to do the simplest tasks. I have very rarely gone anywhere and not known for what purpose I was there. I very much dislike being in situations where I am unsure, perhaps its the perfectionist in me that doesn’t like to feel like I don’t know what is going on, a character trait that apparently 5% of humans actually possess. I digress.
I finally receive my turn in line. I place my parcel on the scale, I say the package is all set, i pay my $5.80, receive my change, thank the portly, miserable teller, and I’m on my way. IN LESS THAN 30 FUCKING SECONDS. Seriously, what the fucking fuck. Why is it.. no HOW is it that everything takes so long for other people to do that takes me less than 30 seconds?? I even cracked a little joke while I was having my turn in line, and guess what? I didn’t waste anyone’s time. And guess who was still at the third window? Captain kickball and his parrothead wife. How? Why? What is actually wrong with you?
I wish life had an EZ-Pass lane where I can just breeze by everyone else who is having a hard time negotiating life’s little things; like checking out of a grocery store, using an ATM, ordering a drink, or simply getting a cup of coffee. Life really doesn’t need to be so difficult.
To the 5% of you that have your shit together, keep it up, we are out there! We shall inherit the Earth!