Going Postal

18 Jul

So, I have to mail a package internationally, which means I cannot use the automated postage machine at the post office. Boo. 😦

I step into the lobby and bask in their air conditioning. There is a handful of people in line, and only 2 cashiers at the counter, but I don’t care, because at least I’m not melting.

Unbeknownst to me (though I found out damn quickly), I am in line behind gum-snapper-lady-who-also-just-ate-all-of-the-curry.

Enter tappity-tappity-tappity-tappity fingers guy. He decides it’d be superawesome to get in line behind me soclose that I may need an STD test now.

In walks a woman looking breezy and comfortable in her summer dress, holding the hand of her 2-year-old child.

“Awwww”, I think. “Isn’t he cute?”

Almost on cue, he bumps his head against the counter and begins to wail. Captain Inconsolable is now singing me the song of his people.

Right about now, time seems to slow to a dead stop.

One of the cashiers leaves (presumably to fetch a package, but I theorize he wanted out of there as badly as I did), which leaves the remaining cashier. The sweet older guy who Only. Types. With. His. Index. Fingers.

Finally it’s my turn. I hand this poor man my package. He takes one look at the fairly long international address, inhales deeply, and starts to type. Click…..click……click……click…..

He managed to get everything input and get my package ready to send, all the while with a smile on his face. God bless him. 


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