What draws imbeciles to congregate at the Post Office?
So, I had to mail two packages of eBay goodness, a roll of film from the Ren Fest, and a few bills. Since I knew Tuesdays are usually super-light at work, I opted to wait until after work to mail all these things. Three-thirty rolls around, I get to leave work, and I head to the BG Post Office. Parking lot looks a little busy, but I find an appropriate spot, park, gather my crap, and head in. And here’s what I find:
Indian woman and pre-teen (or is it "tween"?) daughter are standing next to their packages on the form-filly-outie counter. This leaves space for two or three non-existent people in front of them in line. The rest of us are crowding out the door of the lobby. Indian woman is talking on her cell to someone about a job interviewee, saying things like, "He must say he wants to be a part of the team," and, "Skill set matches the job description. Yes. Skill set matches…"
Only two out of three windows are open, despite the out-the-door line of waiting customers.
At window #1 is a college-age woman who apparently owns no envelopes and must wait until she gets up to the window at the post office to put her writing sample in a large envelope. Townie woman behind me mutters, "She couldn’t have done that at home?" I decide I like the townie woman.
At window #2 is a couple who has moved from New Jersey, and did the proper thing in having their mail forwarded. Unfortunately, someone with their same last name moved into their old house, and the less-than-intelligent postal carrier out in Joisey is forwarding the new tenant’s mail to these former tenants. Postal clerk tells them to write a letter to the Postmaster of that city, explaining the issue.
Meanwhile, the stupidity at window #1 has moved along, and the Indian woman and her daughter lug their two giant boxes up to the counter. (The pregnant lady in front of me moves up in line, allowing the five people behind me to finally enter the lobby.) In these boxes are books headed for London, and they need to be shipped as cheaply as possible. They proceed with filling out customs forms and miscellaneous tags.
Confusion from window #2 is complete, and the pregnant woman takes her turn at the counter. She has two packages — to return to sender. (?!) The postal clerk scribbles the correct things on them and puts them in the appropriate place behind the counter. The woman then proceeds to buy stamps, but must see all the nifty choices before selecting a book of postage to purchase. The townie behind me is fidgeting and preparing to go postal, so to speak.
Finally, finally, after about 15 minutes, it’s my turn. Package number one: Media Mail with Delivery Confirmation. Check. Number two: Cheap Airmail to Canada. Check. Need stamps. Check. Done. Move aside and let crazy townie take her turn while I put my change away.
Is it that difficult? Sheesh.
And in the news… a Romanian Gypsy family recently arranged a marriage between their 12-year-old daughter and a 15-year-old boy. [brief pause for consideration] OK, comments from the peanut gallery:
I don’t know about you, ladies, but by age 12, I hadn’t even officially "become a woman" yet, and had barely even discovered the joy of, um… self-gratification. Real sex? Jinkies. Come to think of it, boys had only recently ceased to be icky — like, within a year or so beforehand.
And how about responsibility? I wasn’t even responsible enough to keep my room clean, much less clean an entire abode. And I was lucky to be making macaroni and cheese from the box at that age. I’m guessing Gypsies have a much different upbringing than I did, but still…!
OK, rant over.
By the way, since I started the Atkins Diet, I’ve lost one inch in my waist and a little more than an inch in my bust (which I’m chalking up to back fat instead of actual boobage). And while my actual weight loss has stalled, I’m still losing about half an inch a week, so I’m sticking with it. Rama at work is amazed at how much I’ve lost, and is excited to be off of work on Mondays in time to go to her Weight Watchers meetings again. It’s the battle of the diet plans… 😉