Going Postal

I recently had to go to the Post Office for a package that for some reason the postman wouldn't shove in my mailbox or leave on my porch. I don't know why. Sometimes they'll leave stuff and sometimes they won't. It seems to be completely random. It's just goofy used books from Amazon, but I've got to leave work and go to postal hell.

Now I think the United States Postal Service is amazing. You give them 40 cents and shit magically shows up across the country. In-freaking-credible. People who complain about the price of stamps are full of it. It's practically magic. Take it yourself if you're going to whine.

The post office, the physical hell where you have to go despite all your best planning and wishes, on the other hand, sucks the big one.

Some epiphanies while I was at the post office:

• No line in the universe moves slower than the post office line.
• Why are there so many people here? It's not lunch time for God's sake.
• Why are there so many forms? If we were starting the post office from scratch now, there's no way there'd be this much paper.

A guy in front of me was filling out a form to mail a letter that was larger than his letter. How is that going to get attached to his letter?

We even have a little work station where you can mail a package without waiting in line and without talking to anyone. I'm the only one I've ever seen use it. I stood in line for 20 minutes today and no one even tried to self serve. They'd rather wait in line and talk to the surly clerks. But then if this many people wanted me to help them in a day, I'd be pissy too.

I usually go early in the morning when only the external part of the post office is open. You can buy stamps, open your post office box, mail crap from the little kiosk and get the hell out. The only people who are ever in there that early are me and the homeless guy who pretends to be reading pamphlets when I come in so it looks like he has actual business to transact there and isn't just hanging out trying to stay warm. I'm not fooled.