I arrived at the Post Office a few minutes before the doors to the desk were opened. I took the time to check my parents box in the lobby and then sat on the bench inside to wait. I saw an older lady enter as well but she stayed in the foyer. A moment later a younger demonstrative woman joined her and tried the door.
“It’s not open yet.” said the first.
“Are you kidding me?! They have a package I need to pick up!”
Evidently, the federal government hadn’t checked with her when they posted the hours.
The smiling mail clerk appeared from the interior shortly after the impatient comment she didn’t hear. She opened the interior door for me and went to the next to let the colder mob in from the foyer.
The two females were not happy to see me already inside. As two men also entered behind them, the clerk asked if anyone was there to just pick up their mail?
The woman standing two behind me, literally put her pickup postcard in the woman’s face. So close, I think she was expected to smell the priority ink.
To her credit, she just accepted it and asked, “Anyone else?”
The elderly man stated he’d called yesterday and was here to pick up his mail. She acknowledged him and headed into the back.
We heard her relock the back door and was behind the counter in an instant handing the gentleman his mail.
The rushed woman’s package, now in the clerk’s other hand, was evidently important government spy work for Macy’s. She reached over the counter for it, irritated that the man behind her-third-in-line-ass was waited on before her.
“Oh, one moment. I have to scan the tracking to update the pickup.” the patient clerk said matter-of-factly.
The response she received was the longest sigh in history.
When she stated her computer wand wasn’t responding, I learned the first sigh was no longer the longest.
The clerk didn’t even flinch and called her colleague, Brian, over to check the power chords below. She explained to him it was working before she opened up.
They adjusted something in an instant, the clerk made an efficient scan and then had the Macy’s merchandise snatched from her multi-tasking hands.
I was waiting but intrigued by the manner people carry themselves.
Being first in line, I stepped up to the counter.
Original other foyer lady stepped to my side. “I don’t need you to wait on me, I just have a question for you”, she said hypocritically.
“Can you hold my mail?. With all this snow and another storm coming, I won’t be able to get to my mailbox.”
The clerk didn’t even miss a beat as she acknowledged me with her eyes and handed the woman a card explaining, “Just fill this out.” to her and “Yes, can I help you?” to me – all in the same breath.
My responding reply didn’t make it to my lips before the other woman was aghast, “I have to fill out paperwork to do that?”
The calm mail clerk dealt with the irritated question by calling over her shoulder. “Yes. Brian can you get the mail for 53 Psycho Lane?”, I knew she was thinking but professionally said the correct address.
“I just want you to hold my mail and I’ll come get it every day. I cannot dig out my mailbox.”
The clerk took my package and placed it on the scale which made, we’ll call her Norma at this point, yell “are you even waiting on me?!”
The clerk said, “No.” but instantly realized Norma was now near convulsions and added, “Well, I got someone else to wait on you. Brian will be out in a minute and you can give him that card. Just fill it in while you wait.”
She told me the priority cost of my package.
“I don’t need to fill out a card. I just don’t want my mail delivered.” but it wasn’t me yelling.
“Well, we cannot do that for six thousand people.”
“What people? I just want you to keep MY mail behind the counter because I am not going to dig out my mailbox for the umpteenth time this winter!!”
At this point, I started to wonder how she was able to dig out her Cadillac but not her tin box with the red flag?
“If everyone in town did that, we wouldn’t be able to operate.”
Keeping her eyes on me, the clerk quoted the regular rate to me and I agreed.
I swiped my debit card and we completed my transaction with minimal words and no conflict. As I folded my slip, I wondered if I should call the EMT’s and plow guys for Norman’s mother? Or the ladies at the spa and the Postmaster General for the clerk?
Brian appeared with the mail and a scared look on his face. I don’t know what he was worried about though. Psycho lady only had a question.
The Post Office had just opened but there had already been three deliveries, two computer transactions and one old lady going postal on their ass.