I despise the post office...

In the last year I have learned to hate the post office and anything related to postmen, packages or "sorry we missed you" slips.

My screaming post man from last year is now a faint memory, what, with his incoherent ramblings and shrieks about how I should tell my friends and family to stop sending holiday packages, because he doesn't want to have to deliver them. Plus, his horrified speech about the atrocity that was outside...a note from someone to please leave a package by their door!

Anyway, I walk all the way through Chinatown in the rain. I'm also just about as far away as it's humanly possible to be from my assigned post office. If you were to draw a line from my front door to the post office they've assigned me, the line would not be straight -- it would be zig zags, loops, some spiralgraph art, some instructions scribbled in Chinese, with that kid from the "ATM!" bank commercials running myseriously ahead wanting me to follow him (but saying "USPS!" instead) and some people on the street calling after me "can't get there from here" while they chew on a piece of straw.

There is a perfectly good post office 3 blocks away, but nooo, I have to go go on a USPS "adventure" and walk a good 15-20 minutes in a direction where there are no subways to the Knickerbocker post office. Thanks USPS. And what is a knickerbocker anyway? Is that another word for underpants?

I only had to pick up a package. There isn't a buzzer in my apartment (long story -- equally annoying, but less fun to write about), so I walk all the way over there in the wind and the pouring rain -- wait, a song is coming to me...what kind of package, what kind of package makes you go out in the wind and the pouring rain? Only this USPS package I have -- anyone remember that? No? No? Ok...anyway, I'm glaring at the front of the line. It's not moving. Everyone has that planted stance and look of apathy as if they've accepted they will just live here, and maybe die here, in the USPS waiting area. And that's OK.

The woman behind the counter has this look on her face like she has no idea how to match the slip to the packages behind her, which appear to be thrown around with no obvious system. Sometimes she comes back and informs the person that sadly, their package is missing, which prompts the person to nearly crawl through the two open glass windows to look for it themselves, "It's a white box, this big, it must be there!" "No, it must be lost. Next."

This is her only power over our line-standing apathy. The power of the package reject. We look at each other nervously -- what if my package...didn't make it? Her only other defense is, "Ah. they re-deliver. see?" The poor tiny older asian woman discovered this sad fact -- it probably took her twice as long to get here as me and now she has to go sit at home and wait for the re-deliver. Just dandy.

I try to see if there are different ways to fold up my umbrella, I read old email on my blackberry, I read the passport instructions on the walls, look at everyone's shoes. A cute guy arrives two people back. I occasionally glance behind me, he looks over. I ignore him. I'm just not one to talk in line, especially with two asian people between us.

I wait so long for my package, that the two asian people behind me get their's first while mine is lost. Cute guy stands next to me. If I had known I'd be here so long, I would have talked to him. At this point, we would probably have already had several inside jokes and reached that point where talking wasn't even necessary.

She comes back and looks at me like "why are you standing here?" I remind her that I'm here for a package. "Oh, OK," she says. As if I would be here for something else? This is the place where you buy food right? Oh no? Is this where you buy jewelry? Oh it isn't? Parakeets? No? Well in that case, I'll just pick up a box -- thanks.

I tell her my name and address again -- cute guy is right there, being quiet. I like quiet. But that means I'm suppose to talk, nah. Forget it...he can memorize my address and send me letters like in that post office movie -- except I never saw it. The previews showed something about a letter and a mailbox though. What was that called...the postcard? The letter? The Postal Service? Oh wait, that's a band -- not a bad one either.

Then I finally get my package and can no longer wait around seeing where this might go. Or, I could have. I could have just hung out, like she thought I was doing before. And she'd say "why are you here for?" And I'd say "ah, just hanging out. I don't need a parcel or anything like that. I just come here for the atmosphere."

Then I fight my way through the wind and the pouring rain, almost die crossing that crazy highway street where the light turns green with white man waving "come on into the street!" only to get halfway across where it turns red and all the highway traffic starts. Thanks little white man for welcoming me into traffic.

I think I'm finally done with my bitching. Happy Holidays! :)