This has become a self-inflicted ritual that I go through about once a month. Why I don’t learn my lesson is beyond me.
I amble down to the local Post Office, usually with the idea that I’ll catch a nice walk and take care of some simple business there - maybe buy some stamps, drop off some mail, etc. I’ve got this polyanna idea that I’ll take a small-town walk down to the local, hometown Post Office, where I’ll get a nice dose of mellow Americana, and say Hi to old people and kids.
Well, call me dumbass. No - hit me in the goddamn head with a pipe, spit on me, and THEN call me dumbass.
So, I walk in, and as usual, I’m immediately head-butted with a fuck-nuttin’ line of about 20 dazed Postal customers, all waiting for the inane fuck-ups behind the counter to get their act together and GET THE FUCK MOVING! C’MON YOU DULLARDS!! MOVE! MOVE! MOVE! Some of the people in line have tents set up - they’re making lunch on campstoves. They’re in for the long haul.
Upon closer inspection, I notice that there are ONLY 2 FUCKIN’ Postal Worker Stations being manned (personned) by Postal Workers. The other 4 are - EMPTY. Fortunately, they’ve placed helpful placards on each of the unmanned stations, offering the profound “Next Window Please” suggestion.
I begin to watch what’s going on. There’s one Postal Worker that’s decided that, despite a growing line of dazed customers, she’s gonna take 15 FUCKIN MINUTES to help Mrs. Grannysmith Appleby package her boxfull of shit, carefully tape it up, and all the while, carry on some fuckin’ conversation that would surely make Ghandi walk over and bitch-slap the both of them!
Then I look over at Postal Worker #2 - he’s spending time making dopey jokes with a customer - the kind of thing that makes even the most kind-hearted person in line start throwing rocks at the idiot. I actually saw an older woman in line squat down, take a shit, pick up said shit, and hurl it at the Postal Worker, but her aim was off, and it landed harmlessly on the floor behind him.
Then the kicker - Postal Worker #1 FINALLY finishes up with her thesis on box-packing procedures, and decides that NOW, NOW is the time to start walking around to search for some taping supplies that GOTTA BE TAKEN CARE OF FUCKIN’ RIGHT NOW, before any other customer is helped. She then goes over, starts yakking with Postal Worker #2, distracts him, and gets him to join in the Hunt For The Missing Tape Dispenser. They walk away from the counter, and over to the back of the room.
At this point, all manner of social decorum in the Line starts to break down, as several otherwise-civil people turn to the person behind them in line and ask “WHAT THE FUCK ARE THESE STOOGES DOIN’?”. “What the FUCK?”. Several people just slowly turn, leave The Line, and walk out the door, hunched over like beaten dogs. I follow, and as I leave, the shitheads behind the counter are STILL FUCKIN’ AROUND OVER IN THE CORNER. The older woman mentioned earlier grabs a second handful of her shit, and winds up…
I decided that my Postal Needs are perhaps better met by, say, the local grocery store, which seems to have everything I usually need, and a curious penchant for better customer service, no doubt because THEY WANT TO STAY IN FUCKING BUSINESS.