Everytime I go into a business I’ve never been in before I feel like I’m in a scene straight out of Curb Your Enthusiasm.
Case in point: Today I visited a Post Office Store brand Post Office Store. It’s like the delivery section of a Kinko’s or Mailboxes ETC only it’s run by the USPS. They have them all over. I’m just usually used to going to the regular post offices where there’s always a line and somebody who will tell you exactly how to do things.
My confusion was apparent.
First I had to figure out how I was shipping my packages. I decided on Priority Mailing because I understood what 2-4 days meant. Then I sized my mailing items and decided on a Priority Mail box.
I needed bubble wrap for the insides of these boxes. They had lots of different things for sale. I asked the lady at the counter where I could find it.
She looked at me annoyed. ‘It’s right over there’, she said, pointing in a non-specific direction. Kind of a thrusting in the general direction of ‘away from me’. Ok. Whatever.
I walked off in that general direction and then she got annoyed when I walked to the wrong shelf.
‘No! It’s that other one!’ she said. Whoops. I walked over to the other shelf.
‘You just walked past it!’ she said. I did indeed just walk past it. I thought, for some reason, that I had walked past packing peanuts, which I wasn’t looking for.
‘Can I wrap my packages first and then pay you for the bubble wrap or do I have to pay you for the bubble wrap and then do my packages and mailing?’
She sighed and looked at me like I was a complete moron. Which is pretty much how I felt. The Post Office Store does not feel like a Post Office. It feels like a Richman Gordman’s in the 1980’s with bad lighting and blue plasticized kiosks splattered hither pither.
‘You can pay for everything when you’re done,’ she assured me.
‘Ok. Thanks!’ I said enthusiastically. I think that threw her for a loop.
‘You’re…welcome,’ she said in a much friendlier voice.
Now it was time to wrap my packages. One of them was much smaller than the other and went together very quickly. The next package, I discovered, I was unable to wrap in bubble wrap and then fit in the box. I needed to do some trimming.
I walked back up to the counter.
‘Do you have scissors?’ I asked.
The woman at the counter resumed her stare of ‘you are the biggest jackass I have ever met in my entire life’ but said very nicely, ‘Of course we do! Here you go.’
I went back to my wrapping. That took a lot longer than neccessary, but it was starting to be pretty funny and the woman at the counter was watching me the entire time like she half expected me to knock over the entire store or something in some sort of freak accident. When I was finished it was time to pay.
‘So what are you mailing?’ she asked as though she had not just watched me wrap up a couple dozen different boxes for a few minutes in a strange sort of struggle wherein man was almost outwitted by a cardboard box and bubble wrap. Man prevailed. But it was a close one, folks.
‘Records,’ I said. ‘Records for some friends.’
She stamped the boxes ‘FRAGILE’ and went about weighing them and whatnot. Then we went through her Patriot Act Mailing Disclaimer.
‘Are you mailing anything deadly or dangerous, liquid or chemical?’
‘No.’
‘Good. Ok.’
I handed her my debit card. She looked at the back and saw ‘SEE ID’ written.
‘Ok,- William,’ she said as though she doubted my legal name was William,’ I need to see your ID.’
I handed her my Iowa Driver’s license and she looked it over. She nodded her head and rang the transaction and I signed the little sheet of paper.
‘Have a nice day! Is there anything else we can get you?’ she said.
‘You too!’ I said not completely listening to what she had said. Mostly just waiting to get out of there.
‘I mean, you have a nice day too,’ I said.
‘You too,’ she said resuming the stare to intimidate the idiot. I was so happy to get out of there. Really.
