Monday, August 6, 2012

Going Postal

Zerb. The School Blues are kicking in bad, you guys. Geo goes back to school this weekend, so we are in "last chance to" mode. You know..."Last night to head downtown this summer." Or "Well, this is the last chance to have din din with your dad." So we did just that tonight. We went and had a fantastic dinner, just Geo, his dad and me.

While it was super fun and I ate the crap out of some nomnom enchiladas, I couldn't get the thought out of my head that in 5 days, I'll need to go back to filling in Geo about my day over the phone. It sucks, you guys. It really just sucks.

So yeah. That's where my head has been today. But, I took a break from wallowing to visit the worst place ever. Well, technically I had to go to the post office.

I mail exactly one check a month for rent. A hundred years ago, I bought some stamps and just realized tonight that I was fresh out. To be honest, I had forgotten that stamps/mail even still existed. I knew I could buy stamps out of the ATM, but I felt like I would have some questions about the alien process for a human, so I put on my bravest face and headed out in search of the elusive "Post Office."

For a place I never really knew existed, the Post Office is a BUSY PLACE. I was third in line, and by the time it was my turn, there were 7 people behind me. Did they all need stamps too? Why else would you go to a Post Office?

Turns out, you only go to the Post Office if you have World's Most Complicated Process to complete. Or, at least that's what the two people in front of me had to do. I had parked in a 15-minute only spot, and I was very nervous around minute 11 when the first person in line started asking about priority mail options. The tension was palpable.

I realized, as I waited for the second person to buy 150 gabillion stamps and mail 625 odd-shaped envelopes, that I had no idea WHAT stamps I needed. I didn't know how much they cost, or how many I needed to buy. Did they come in fridge packs? Cases? Boxes? I don't know. I only buy things in liquor-store quantities. And staring at the options for stamps, I knew I DIDN'T want stupid cartoon character stamps. And I didn't want the "Love" ones because, you know, I definitely DON'T love mailing my rent check, and I don't want them to get the wrong idea about our relationship. 

When it was my turn, I scooted ahead to the surly old man behind the counter. I timidly said "Hi. Um, I need some stamps. The ones that don't have amounts on them...the ones that are always the same price." He tilted his face down to glare at me over his tiny Santa-like glasses and asked "Uh, the Forever stamps?" I said "Yeah. But I don't want the Love ones." He stifled his laughter, assumed I was a woman scorned, and slid a packet of stamps towards me. "Here are the ones we have. Go ahead and pick one."

THE PRESSURE! There were still 7 people behind me, angrily tapping their feet. I panicked and flipped through the book at lightning speed. I decided to color comment my decision process. 

Well, I'm not athletic and haven't really been that into the Olympics, so I don't want those. Definitely no cartoon characters. Nah, don't want baseball. Girl Scouts? Is that what that one is? No, I was never a Girl Scout. I don't know. I mean, I guess we'll just have to go with cherry blossoms, even though I'm not really a "flower" kind of girl.

A hundred minutes later, after explaining my decision, Santa sighed and said "Got it. Thanks for the analysis." He said "How many?" And I said "Um, whatever." He sighed again, and the 7 people behind me audibly sighed as well. He asked "Do you want a book, a sheet or a coil?" I said I didn't know. I only need one a month. He slid a sheet of 20 across the counter, silently cursed me, and then I paid.

When I walked out to my car, more than 10 minutes past my 15-minute limit, one of the guys at the end of the line SNEERED AT ME. As in: He squinted, scrunched up his nose, and showed me his teeth. RUDE. 

So, between the sheer volume of decisions I'm supposed to make quickly and the rude clientele, I've decided that I'm definitely not going to the Post Office again. Well, at least for 20 months.

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