Oh, dear. (another boring post office story)

I love to knit dishrags.

I love to give them to folks that enjoy them.

A certain lady who wanted all I had made the last time I saw her at her grandchild's wedding over a year ago, had a birthday so I thought I'd send her some more in her favorite color. I guessed what the postage should be using my trusty kitchen scale, and used math man to come within pennies using the stamps I had on hand. But, since the post office had but one lady in the line, I decided to have the package checked just in case. I just hate to send a package and as a gift the recepient has to pay for it on the other end.

Our post office has a new character. And by character, I do mean rare bird. Last Monday, before the cold artic air forced most indoors, he had to go on break when the line stretched out the door. And announced to everyone that he needed a drink. The other clerk said that long lines bothered him.

Maybe the post office is forced to hire anyone breathing.

Maybe the post office can no longer be selective.

Maybe the post office cannot ask important questions like bi-polar?

This guy had the spiel down, and would not be swayed from it. He started with overnight express. I already had actual stamps on the package. But, it needed more because it was more a package than a large envelope. If I had laid the dishrags flat, I might have gotten away with it. He started at the top of the list, and why I would want to add $44.00 to a small package is beyond me. Then there was the the contents list. I admitted out loud that it contained knitted dishrags. He did not want to hear what they were. He wanted to hear a "no" to all his questions, and only, "no."

I tried to keep a poker face. I was almost ready to pay anything ('cause I think they make it up, anyway) just to get out of there. Wow. Maybe this is part of the post office's push to make you think twice about using them. Ever. Again.

The clerk then sighed, and got out his drawer calculator to subtract the postage I had mistakenly attached from what is actually due, and figured I needed to pay thirty-four more cents. Sounded good to me. I promise I won't come back. Life is tooooo short.

Maybe the competitors are flooding the post office with these bozos so that we will go elsewhere?!

While in line...while this guy was waiting on me, another lady being waited on by the only other clerk recognized my clerk and they exchanged pleasantries. Sadly, my clerk could not do calculations and talk at the same time. The whole time he regaled us with his new haircut, and how the customer still has a tape of him singing at her wedding, his fingers hovered over the touchscreen. He sang at the other lady's wedding. wow. I was afraid to ask if maybe he desired to return to that occupation? Or, how about a bar, please sing us a song. Might as well. I was not going anywhere. This was turning out to be the most bizarre, outlandish visit to the post office. The other clerk hit a button and her machine started spitting out a ten foot receipt. I kid you not. I wanted to ask whatall she bought, as I wanted to avoid that long a receipt. The lady literally had to stop, put her purse down, fold and refold the lengthy receipt just to stuff the mess away in her purse. I will not need to go to the circus this year. Going to the post office has fulfilled that need. I walked out of the post office muttering to myself, "blog fodder". It was the only way to stay sane. I did not dare make eye contact with the next victims.

I predict the post office is going to go under. bankrupt. out of business. And people will lament, and be astonished. But, you and I will know why. It will not be a suprise to me at all.