Thursday, September 24, 2020

A Week at the Post Office

I’ve mentioned (ad nauseam) that I go to the post office every single day for work. Some days, weeks, months, I only have to go into the part where the post office boxes are so that I can pick up the incoming mail from the six post office boxes that my work has. Why yes, I feel quite important when I pull out the key ring with SIX post office box keys on it. I’m way cooler than you over there opening your ONE PO box. Ha on you, only having three envelopes. Look at me with my bags of mail. Yeah, mail is super fun, except when it’s not. See, one recent week, the post office was getting on my last nerve. I had to go in and talk to the ladies (it’s always ladies. Why are there NEVER any men working the stupid counter?) at the counter. They’re the ones who deal with the general public and I feel for them because the general public is stupid. I feel stupid when I’m a member of the general public. Just saying. So that week, I had to go up to the counter every single day. So frustrating. The first day is was so I could try and sent a garment back to the UK. It was a return. The company send a label and everything; except, since it was an international return, I had to fill out customs paperwork. And apparently, the label they sent was just an address label. It didn’t include postage, which was going to be $14.95. The hell? So I took the stupid customs label and told Kathy behind the counter I’d be back the next day. The next day, not only did I have my return, I also had a check from work to pay for the six post office boxes for the next six months. AND I had a yellow ticket (of leave? Alas, no, no yellow ticket of leave for you, prisoner 24601.) that indicated there was something that hadn’t fit in the P.O. boxes. That’s SUPER fun. First, I gave her the check my boss had given me for the P.O. boxes and…it wasn’t made out for the right amount. The label with the amount they’d sent in was faded and the last number, a 6, looked very much like a 0. Kathy asked me if I wanted make up the $6 difference. I did not. While I might have had cash on hand, I didn’t want to part with it even though I know work would have reimbursed me. But damn it, I shouldn’t have to pay for stuff like that with my own money. Then I gave her the yellow ticket that had been in the box from the day before but that I hadn’t seen until I got back to the office because there was so much mail it had been buried in there amidst the checks and catalogs and invoices. Kathy took my yellow ticket, disappeared behind the wall that separates the general public from the VIPs of the postal world. She returned with a big ass box (not so big, but it was heavy, which is actually just as annoying as being big…I HATE big, heavy boxes. This is probably a bit PTSD from when Tom used to send ridiculously large and heavy boxes with me to my previous employment to be shipped via UPS, which pissed me off to no end and was one of the very few things we’ve ever had actual fights about. This box, for the record, did NOT have a P.O. box number listed. It actually had a street address, which was not the street address of the plant I work at. My place of employment has four plants within a one mile radius. I work at plant 1. This box was addressed to plant 4. The hell? Why was it waiting for me to pick up when it could have been sent with the freaking mailman to the actual street address on the box? That this point, I was very near my last reserve of patience. So finally Kathy perused my customs forms and asked me the company name for the return. I don’t know. I didn’t buy the stupid garment. I was returning it for Alyssa, who’d bought it for her sister, bless her heart. But it didn’t fit her sister and who wants a $40 bra that doesn’t fit? Not us. You want a bra sitting around your house that doesn’t fit anyone? Give me a call, the stupid thing is still in my purse. Anyway, I told her I had no idea what the business name is and took the package, the customs paperwork and ANOTHER customs form because Kathy had helpfully stamped the one I’d already filled out with that day’s date and so I’d need to do it all again for the next day. I told her I’d take the check back and have my boss issue a new one. Whatever! The first was empty. Wheee!!! But guess what? As I was checking the first, empty post office box, I realized I’d forgotten the heavy-ass box Kathy had brought up for me before the whole customs issue came up. It was still sitting on the counter beside Kathy’s workspace. So, I went BACK to Kathy’s counter to retrieve that stupid box. But there was this DUDE standing there talking to Kathy about I don’t even know what. And he was in my way! Instead of standing directly in front of Kathy, where there is plexiglass protecting her from creeps like this, he stood off to the side, directly in front of the stupid heavy box I didn’t even want. Except I needed that box because it wasn’t mine, it belonged to plant 4 and I needed to take it there. Or, you know, back to plant 1 where I could then send it to plant 4 via ‘interoffice mail.’ Sigh. Kathy’s coworker saw my frustration and retrieved my box from its purgatory in front of annoying dude who does not understand personal space. I took that stupid heavy box out to my car and then went in to actually get the mail out of the other five post office boxes. The next box I opened…had another stupid yellow ticket. Are you freaking kidding me? I had to go BACK IN TO THE COUNTER for the THIRD time for anyone who’s counting to get whatever was waiting for me behind door number two. It ended up being a packet of mail that was just too much to fit into the box. Figures. The next day (third day of the week, for those counting) I had to go to the counter to try and send that stupid bra back to England AND pay for the P.O. boxes with the corrected check. Somedays, I think the post office is more trouble than it’s worth. Then I remember that Kevin Costner movie, The Postman. Did you guys see that one? One scene has the bad guy about to kill two of the postman’s mailmen. These two boys stop and introduce themselves to each other and the bad guy realizes that if these two don’t know each other, his rival for world domination has already gotten away from him. That’s not really a good description of the scene but close enough. What I’m saying is, that movie reminds me that we’re lucky to have mail service and it keeps us connected in a way that even the internet can’t quite do so I’ll try and not let my trivial annoyances stop me from mailing a letter every now and then.

1 comment:

Julie said...

This was entertaining but frustrating. I do think it's hilarious that you still have the bra in your purse.